Your Freedom Lies North
by Greenbean347
Summary: Set after The Silver Chair, similar to Horse and His Boy. I hate my title. A princess and a slave attempt an escape to the North, their way barred by thieves and bloodthirsty Tarkaans. Rating for a bit of brutality. Be nice, my first fanfic. Complete
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

It was a violent sport, vicious, bloody, inhumane. No one in their right mind would condone such hideous slaughter.

No one, that is, except those who stood to gain profit.

In Calormen's later years, the sport had been adopted nationwide. Some Tarkaans specialized in training these killing machines. They molded them, starved them, beat them, pushed them to an inch of their lives until the physical toughness of them was astounding. And then, when the biweekly meetings took place, the prospect earned the chance to prove his mettle. A few times he proved himself. Many times he lost.

Arena battling, which the commoners comically called chicken fights, was born after the favorite son of Ishleeb died in a jousting match. Grieved, his father wondered why it was that all the brave ones died against their own countrymen, instead of fighting the wars of the Tisroc and gaining glory for him and more importantly for themselves and the family name. However, the crowds seemed to love the butchering. From this, Ishleeb had an idea. Why not let the men fight their wars, gain glory, and yet make money off slave warriors? It would be like putting dogs against each other in a fight. The more he thought, the more he liked the idea, and before long, Arena battling, similar to our gladiatorial games, was born.

And Suruv, Ishleeb's great-grandson, was ashamed to say that, despite his upbringing in the sport, he could not produce a slave worth showing. His last fourteen had died, gigantic men he was sure would sky rocket him to glory. But they had all failed. And now, he stood, before a young man, no more than twenty, and no bigger than himself. He made a mental note to decapitate his foreman when the cowardly man stuttered out an apology,

"I-I-I-I'm so s-s-s sorry my lord. The man, he said, well, he said this one was a perfect candidate. Not very big, but strong, and determined. And he.."

"Quiet, for Tash's sake, stop your groveling," Suruv growled. What would the other lords think of him now. A boy for a fighter...

He gave the boy a good look. He was fair skinned, with dirty blond hair, no doubt a barbarian of the north. He was very lean, making him taller than he appeared. His clothing hung loosely about him, putting Suruv's mind to wondering how scrawny he really was. Despite all this, it was the young man's eyes that caught Suruv's attention. They held no fear, no worry, not even a gleam of terror. The blueness of them shocked the dark man, and, for the first time, Suruv became afraid of a slave. The eyes pierced his mind, saw through him, the iciness of them froze thoughts. He tried to cover up the agitation in his voice, but even the foreman could hear it as he hissed,

"Take him to the training grounds, see what he's got. He may be of some use. Have a name?" he dared to ask the young man. He merely blinked.

"The trader said he was called Galian, my lord," the foreman informed his master, obviously confident he wasn't to be exterminated.

"Galian. Northern?"he asked the young man again, who nodded, which was actually more like a short jerk of his head than a nod. Suruv shivered, noticeably, Galian smirked after him before allowing the foreman to push him to the training grounds.

Suruv sped back to his house as fast as he would allow himself without looking foolish. He finally reached one of his offices, and sat down to steady himself. The look of that boy...it was chilling. He couldn't say in words what exactly had shaken him so, it was more the boy's mannerism. Suruv was not used to people who didn't quell at his every move, people who knew he could have them killed in the most painful way if he so wished. He had a feeling he couldn't do so with this young man, that at the mere mention of an untimely death would arouse a malice so terrifying the order would barely pass Suruv's lips than his very life would be in danger. Taking a last sigh of nervousness and allowing himself a swig or two of wine to cheer himself, he thought suddenly, _He's the one. My prize fighter._

A knock at his door interrupted his grandiose imagination, and in entered the person he liked to see least in all the world: his daughter, Aoife.

To say she was his daughter was not completely true. She belonged to his one of his wives, one who, after giving Suruv plenty of boys, wished for a girl to which she could dote upon. It would have been easier to have one of her own, but the Tarkeehena didn't enjoy bearing children much, and one day, upon seeing a beautiful baby girl being carried by her slave mother in the orchards, at once decided the girl would be hers, and sent for the slave. Unfortunately, no manner of bargaining or threatening would deter the slave-woman, and in the end it was the Tarkeenhena's duty to slay the mother and take the child anyway. The girl was raised in the household like one of Suruv's own children. Ironically, when Aoife was a child, her "mother" only spent an hour or so a day with her before sending her to a nurse and whatnot, and as a young woman, Aoife saw her even less.

Suruv wished he could say the same about Aoife. She was a constant thorn in his side, always trying to play the politician, asking why this happened and what would happen if that happened. Her political views were astounding, but then again, what else could be expected from a young, northern-bred woman.

"I saw the new fighter. Quite a character, isn't he?"

"What business is it of yours?" Suruv growled.

"I only meant that he was quite a striking young man. Very perceptive, I thought. Is he to be your prize winner?"

Suruv scowled, not liking the direction this was taking. Aoife had always opposed slave-fighting vehemently.

"Did you want something? Or am I to listen to your incessant bickering once again?"

"That depends. Which will void my participation in the banquet this evening?"

"Neither. Shameth shall be here tonight, and he'll want to see you. Which brings me to the subject of manners. If you, at any point during the evening, make any reference to politics or insult Shameth in any way, so help me I will cut you into pieces and feed you to the dogs, am I clear?"

"Quite clear," the other replied sarcastically, and sauntered out of the room.

Suruv had a bad feeling about the night to come.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Underneath her fierce exterior, Aoife Tarkeehena was in all reality very kind-hearted and very easily put down. Growing up in a house full of people so prejudiced to her particular ethnic origin, she had faced insults and jeers constantly, and while she persuaded herself time and time again to not listen to them, many of them hit home. To say Aoife had a rough childhood would be an understatement. Not so much that she wasn't given every comfort she would need, but because, except for a few distant memories of her mother, she had never known anyone to love her. They all, especially her sisters, hated her. They hated her long, golden hair, her creamy porcelain skin, all the way to her deep blue eyes. They made her life a living hell, jeering and nagging her at every available moment. No, no one had ever loved her, and she had loved nobody, save her mother.

Well, maybe that's not entirely true.

She was in love. The object of her affections was Pericles, Captain of Suruv's guard. His father, Pelan Tarkaan, had been ambassador to Narnia and Archenland in his younger days, and had taken both his sons with him on various trips. Consequently, his sons picked up many traits that were despised by Calormenes and considered normal by Narnians. They were jovial and laid back, enjoyed a good war story now and then, and despised everything about Calormen. When they were staying in Calormen, Suruv, always the suck up, would invite Pelan and his boys to great parties, and it was here that Pericles and Aoife formed a friendship. He told her stories of Narnia and all that he had learned there, and she told him of the injustices she had to face even as a young girl, which aroused the sympathy of the young boy.

Eventually, when Pericles was an adolescent, the family fell onto hard times. His eldest brother, Cyrus, was drafted into the war against the rebels in the west, and died a month after he was drafted. Pelan, devastated with grief, reprimanded publicly the Tisroc and claiming it was the Tisroc's greed that started the rebellion and brought the downfall of his son. Of course, no one in Calormen is allowed to talk to and about the Tisroc like that, and Pelan was stripped of his titles and hung for being a traitor. Which left young Pericles with no family, no home, nothing to call his own. Suruv took advantage of the young boy's limited options, put him through military school, and made him Captain of his guards, not out of the goodness of his heart, but so he could snub Pericles, be mean to a young man with limited or no options in his life. As much as she hated Suruv all the more for bullying her friend, she was glad she was able to see him nearly everyday.

She wished he could protect her from the ordeal to come. Shameth, besides being gloriously rich, was also unbearably haughty, and while he cast a few cheesily-worded compliments her way, most of the talk during the course of the evening would consist of himself. Suruv, always the suck up, would pretend to not pay any mind, and would hang on Shameth's every word. She sighed as she slipped into the gown prepared for her, stifling and, she thought, a little revealing. Her hair was next, and then, she was ready for the unpleasant night ahead of her.

En route to the banqueting hall, she came upon Pericles, in the midst of his duties. At the moment, he was dispatching two or three troops to the doorway, and a few more to various places. They were all dressed in finery, clothes that made them all look quite horrible. As the last of his comrades left, he looked her way, and immediately broke into a wide smile that had always been famous for weakening her knees.

"There you are! His _lordship_," he said the last with contempt, but only when they were alone, "was just about to send me to get you. You look beautiful, as always."

Men usually told her she was beautiful, even through all the other insults, but the only ones she took to heart were his.

"You're looking distinguished yourself, and almost as uncomfortable as I," she replied, eliciting a laugh from her friend.

"Indeed. But I'm sure you will receive more compliments than I."

"Will I see you there tonight?" she asked hopefully.

"Nay, I'll be checking around, making sure everyone is safe. And making sure that confounded slave hasn't escaped again..."

"Oh, has he tried to escape already?"

"Yes, my lady. Twice now. He's shackled in his hut but I don't doubt he'll leave again. You know what scares me?" he said, dropping his voice to just above a whisper, "I know that if he breaks out again, I won't be able to stop him. Have you seen him fight?"

"Briefly. He is extraordinary, isn't he?"

"Yes, he is. His lordship might have picked a winner this time. Speaking of whom, he will be very angry if you delay any longer."

"Let him be angry. I feel no obligation to be there."

Again, that smile, "Yes, my lady, but surely you'd rather associate with the high class instead of a lowly captain such as myself."

"I will if you say 'My lady' once more, and not call me by name."

They chuckled, their laughter then cut short by a worried servant who summoned her to Suruv's table. She sighed, rolled her eyes at an amused Pericles, and joined the higher class.

The banquet was kicked off by sacrificing a goat to some god or another (the type of sacrifice usually depended on the occasion; during holiday feasts a person was sometimes sacrificed, and on the Day of Tash, the major holiday, a child of the nobles was done away with. The entire process made Aoife sick, and not because she was squeamish), then all present were seated, men on one side of the table and women on the other. Thus far, Shameth had been deeply engrossed in politics with her father, and for the first thirty minutes of the meal she was spared. Unfortunately, his attention eventually turned to her.

"And you, O my Lady, how are things with you tonight?" not waiting for an answer, he continued, "I thought of you earlier today, as I passed a field of tulips, and saw them swaying in the wind. You know, I pass that field so much, I have a mind to buy it-"

And that was how things usually went with Shameth, he would at least attempt to compliment Aoife, but somehow it would fall back on himself and his immense wealth. Besides being very conceited, he was also firm in his beliefs, be they over politics, slavery, or the economy. During the times he found himself to be wrong, he would pretend that he had held the right opinion all along, as if he had never changed his mind. He had views on every subject, from the way he treated his slaves (very badly) to the judicial system (he thought that slaves and peasants should be executed for any and every crime, less severe punishments for Tarkaans) to his views about women (silent and submissive).

At one point, he turned to the wheat famine in the west, and how the lack of such had caused minor riots in various places in the nation. He made a comment about subduing the peasants quickly and efficiently, and how if they needed the wheat so badly, they should grow their own, and let the Tarkaans take the little that was being produced. After he produced his arguments, he made the mistake no one in the house of Suruv Tarkaan would ever make; he asked Aoife for her opinion.

She wiped her mouth, folded her napkin neatly, and began, keeping the voice that was mistaken to be very polite, but Suruv, through experience, had learned it was mere sarcasm.

"Well, My Lord, first of all, the constant erosion in the west made it inevitable that there would be a famine, and I think the lord of whichever province that is should have anticipated it and been better prepared, unless he knew of this information and is using the famine as an excuse to charge more on the prices of his wheat, denying the rest their nutrition, which puts him on the same level as murderers, which you so eloquently put should be punished immediately..."

Suruv tried to silence her at this point, knowing the lord of the western province in question was a good friend of Shameth's (and anticipating that Aoife knew as well), but before he could get another word in, Aoife had changed subjects

"...and talking of nutrition, the peasants and slaves need such if they are going to continue to work efficiently for their owners as well as this new burden of growing their own food as your lordship has already suggested..."

"Aoife, that's enough," Suruv warned.

"...and regarding the argument you made about subduing the peasants and slaves, if too many are killed for their crimes, eventually they will die out and then there would be no slave market and the economy would fail, though, I feel, all things considered, it wouldn't be too awful a thing..."

"Aoife, I said that was enough,"Suruv growled.

"No, no, my friend," Shameth stated sweetly, "let her finish. Your daughter is obviously a learned politician. Tell me, my dear, how should we leaders, who have studied the science of politics all our lives, run our provinces?"

Knowing Aoife would give an answer to the question, one not to anyone present's liking, Suruv cut in, "Aoife, you're looking terribly flushed. You are excused to step outside if you wish."

Aoife rose, looking particularly smug.

She didn't doubt she was flushed, it was terribly hot in that room, but knew she was only allowed to leave due to the fact Suruv didn't want to be embarrassed. She muttered a prayer of thanks, for once for Suruv's pride.

The night air was cool and crisp, and it exhilarated Aoife the moment she stepped out the door onto the balcony. The stars shown brightly, as did the moon, casting nearly as much light as the sun might. She was just enjoying her quiet moment when a tall, shapely figure stepped out of the hall. She knew the figure by his gait, more like a swagger, displaying every amount of conceit the owner held. It was her half brother, Bederf.

Bederf was rather handsome, with a long, drawn face, a neatly trimmed goatee, and dark, mysterious eyes any girl would love to be lost in. As it was, he was also incredibly proud and vain, and, for many years now, had a unnatural sort of hatred and attraction for Aoife, the latter never reminding him that they weren't technically related.

"O my sister, what brings you into this ghastly coldness?"

"I rather like it, my brother," she commented, stressing the brother part, "I find it rather thrilling."

"You would, as cold-hearted as you are," the other said bitterly, leaning against the railing.

"And what brings you out here, my brother, if it bothers you so?" she retaliated.

"My own wishes. Unlike you, I may come and go as I please," he said smugly, "it's rather rotten of you to insult a guest like that. If you're not careful, Father may throw you back with all the other riffraff, and then where would you be?"

"A good deal happier than I am now, let me assure you," she replied bitterly, moving away from him.

"I'll be sure to tell him you said so. Perhaps he'll go easy on you, allow you to be one of my personal slaves..."

The innuendo was not lost on Aoife. She knew perfectly well what the "personal" slaves were required to do.

"If that's to be the case, you may tell him I am perfectly content digging up potatoes or mending fences or whatever else may place me far from this house..." she said all this as she walked away, and at the end of her speech, Bederf, enraged, grabbed her from behind and turned her around, shaking her violently as he said, "You dare insult us? Hear me, you are not fit to wipe the boots of the lowliest slave, you ice-hearted, flea-bitten..."

"My lord," came the low and threatening voice of Pericles out of the dark, "why do you dwell outside in this bitter weather? You should be getting back in."

Bederf, who would never take orders from anyone, least of all someone of inferior position, had always been afraid of the captain, and, with the manner of a scolded puppy, released Aoife and trotted back inside obediently.

Pericles rolled his eyes after him, "I saw him coming out, and knew he'd be up to no good. Are you alright?"

"Yes, fine, thank you," came her reply, "and I owe many thanks to the courageous captain of the guards. What's to be his reward?"

The latter grinned, "The mere knowledge of the safety of your ladyship is enough reward for me, thank you."

"Pericles, you always were a pompous fool."

"I merely mastered the finer arts of speech. And you? Why are you out in the cold? Have you insulted your suitor so quickly?"

She chuckled, "He should have known better than to ask me my political views," and she related the entire conversation to her friend.

He nodded in approval, "Very good. I suppose he's building on your ideas as we speak."

"Most likely. I care not."

"Don't you?" he asked, moving closer, "sometimes I think you care very much. You have such a warm heart, it is hard to imagine it as indifferent to undeserved jests others throw you way."

"Alas, you have hit the truth. I do take insults to heart. I know I shouldn't, but I do. And as much as I have heard them in my life, it still hurts to hear them now. And I suppose it will irritate me to hear him spouting my ideas when I go back. But I'm tired, my friend, tired of all the insults and slander I must take."

"I do not doubt. I feel that way also."

She gasped, "Oh, Pericles, how selfish of me! Of course you face just as much prejudice as I."

He shook his head kindly, "Nay, you are the least selfish person I know. I do not expect you to remember my troubles. You are right, though. I am hated because of my sympathies, just as my father was."

"I'm terribly sorry for you father,"Aoife said quietly, after a short pause, "he was always such a kind man. He used to bring me jewels from Narnia. I still have them in my room, hidden where none of my family could ever see."

"Yes, he loved you like one of his own. He was always a heartfelt man; he hated how you were forced to grow up like you did. Children liked him, and he they, but he seemed to have a special attachment towards you. I remember, every time we left, he told me, 'O my son, however you must acquire the job, never let that young woman out of your sight. She is too important.'"

Aoife was puzzled, "Important?"

The latter shrugged, and glanced over at his companion, "I'm not sure what he meant. He said it all the same."

"I supposed you achieved victory," she commented proudly.

"What? Oh yes, I suppose you're right. Though I wish he had remained alive, and I could still be a Tarkaan's son, merely because circumstances would make it easier to watch over you," he said all this very quickly, not looking at her.

"What do you mean?" she asked, though she thought she had an inkling, but was afraid it might be wrong.

"I mean...."he stumbled, then, "I mean...I would have married you," he finally finished, and though it was dark, she was sure his face turned a deep shade of red. Unfortunately, any further love confessions were interrupted by Shameth, who cursed Pericles roundly for not patrolling (he too liked to bully the young man when he was there) and pulled Aoife back inside, not before hissing, "So, Pericles, son of Pelan, you would attempt to win the heart of the Tarkeehena? Remember, you are no better than barbarians you father loved, how could you think of yourself worthy of her attention?" and he slammed the door, leaving Pericles with these cruel words.


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks to all my reviewers. You guys are the best!!

Disclaimer: Narnia belongs to Jack.

Chapter 3

Pericles walked about in a bad mood for the rest of the evening, taking his wrath out on footmen who had snuck away to the winery or were dozing off. As most in a position of authority, he found it easy to abuse his power, and on most occasions would have stopped himself, but he didn't put forth that effort tonight. Shameth's words buzzed around in his head, constantly reminding him of how unworthy he was for his dear Aoife.

For Shameth had been right about one thing; he was deeply in love with her, and had been ever since he was a little boy, before he even knew what it was like to be in love. It seemed that the two would always be together, and it would have remained that way if his father hadn't been executed.

The thought put him in another bad mood, one which he vented on a soldier who was so slovenly dressed and obviously drunk. He walked away shaking his head; banquets were usually more trouble than they were worth, an excuse to indulge oneself on Suruv Tarkaan's wine. Usually, only about ten percent of the guard managed to stay sober, increasing the chances for a riot or possibly an escape. Which reminded him, he probably should check on the Narnian.

He mounted his horse, who was usually rather shabby-looking but after being tended to at the Tarkaan's request he looked almost like the valiant steed he was supposed to be. The ride to the slave huts was a short one, and in no time, the captain was guiding his horse through the scattered dwellings. They were very simple; mud or clay, with thatched roofs, and all a little misshapen after the storms that had ripped through Calormen a few weeks ago. Tonight, most that weren't too tired from the day's work were patching up roofs or holes in the wall, or tending their own little vegetable gardens, or cooking their miserable little suppers. Most, at the sight of him, ran into their homes, or else stood still as statues. His heart went out to them, but he showed no signs of affection or friendliness; he had heard instances of guards and foremen who tried to be kind to the slaves, and ultimately had to deal with an unruly riot on their hands, or else went insane at sight of the abominable treatment the slaves had to suffer.

He continued on, and finally came to the last settlement, a structure in the making, with a small tent pitched to one side. This was the Narnian's new home, and Pericles was impressed with the progress he had already made on his clay hut. Borrowed utensils lay strewn about, ones that no doubt would be missing by morning; for things like that were coveted by many in the huts. Satisfied with what he saw, he continued across the fields to a dark, strongly built stone building, with small windows and only one door. This was where the disobedient ones were kept, with very little food and water, until the Tarkaan saw fit, which, in the Narnian's case, wouldn't be too long, for Suruv was anxious to start his training. Pericles dismounted and, taking the torch by the wall, unlocked the door and entered.

He wasn't sure why he went in, morbid curiosity possibly, and was satisfied to see a shackled, filthy, but still defiant young man sitting on the floor.

"Still here, then?" Pericles asked, but received nothing but a glare from the other. He matched the glare, determined to let this man know he was not afraid of him. Finally, the Narnian said,

"I remember you."

Pericles was taken aback, "What?" was all he could say.

"You and your father were in Beaversdam once. The faun I was with, he gave you an apple. He grew really wonderful apples, I remember. You weren't much older than me at the time."

Pericles said nothing, searching his mind for the memory. Galian continued, "You're not like the others."

"Excuse me?"

"You don't seem like the others. You're not as stiff or as grim as they. You could pass as a Narnian, in fact, if you weren't so dark."

Pericles wasn't sure what to say to that, and so he said nothing. "No," Galian continued, "you're not like them, and from what I've heard, you owe them nothing either. So why do you insist on keeping me here?"

Pericles laughed to himself. Of course, that had been the Narnian's game, flattery with hopes that Pericles would be soft enough to set him free. Shaking his head, he let the door slam behind him.

_Can't blame a man for trying,_ he thought to himself


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

That night was the last night Aoife would be forced to stay at that particular palace for a while. Immediately afterwards, Suruv moved the majority of the household to their summer palace in the south. There they were much more isolated and Suruv was allowed to train his new prospect with little worry about spies or word leaking out.

Included in those relocated to the summer palace was Aoife, who had hoped that her last insult to Shameth would cause Suruv to want to distance himself from her as much as possible, but in truth, though she was an eternal thorn in his side, Suruv did rely on Aoife's business and political sense. She was a true diplomat, as anyone could see, and it was for this reason and this reason only he didn't kill her outright for being the outspoken nuisance she was.

He did have his ways of making her life miserable, however, much to his pleasure. His main act of revenge was forcing Pericles to remain behind to guard the main palace, so that it would be months on end before Aoife would see him. He also made sure that her room was placed in some close relation to Bederf's, and while Suruv wouldn't have permitted the things he knew Bederf wanted to do, he knew that Aoife would keep him at bay, and would have an exhausting time doing so.

Meanwhile, Galian's training began. Suruv was known for his grueling training tactics, and he redoubled his efforts to toughen Galian. The Narnian was forced to complete horrible tasks in the beginning; walk miles and miles with loads of rocks and bricks on his back; was hung by his wrists from trees, his toes barely touching the ground, was submerged under ice cold water time and time again, beaten, starved, whipped, sleep deprived, and all the while given fighting lessons. While there were times when he faltered a bit, Galian was a fierce competitor, fighting with an audaciousness and temerity never before seen. He did not have what an expert swordsman would call "good form," instead he fought wildly and with the manner of a man fighting on instinct, one merely trying to stay alive. While most expert swordsmen would frown on such a fighting style, Suruv treasured it; nothing kept a man alive better than the instinct to stay alive.

The spent the remainder of the winter and spring there, with less than the usual excitement, and at the coming of high summer, Suruv moved the family back to the main palace for rest before the Season of the Fights began.

The Season ran in such a way; tournaments occurred every other week, usually in places like Azim Balda, Mezreel, Ilkeen, Tehishbaan, and finally, Tashbaan. Each tournament lasted five days, the first day holding preliminary trials, the second day hosted the quarterfinal winners of the first day, winners of these tournaments fought the third day in the semifinals, the fourth day was usually a day of rest and preparation for the fifth and final day, the day when the two winners of the week would combat each other to determine the winner of the weekly tournament. You can imagine how stressful the week would be to the fighters, not only physically (combatants rarely ever came out of a fight without cuts or bruises of some sort), but also mentally.

The games this year began in Azim Balda. Suruv and the rest arrived in Azim Balda a week before the games were scheduled to begin, and already they found it crowded. Excitement vibrated through the city like the strings of a guitar. Despite his efforts to secrecy, everyone knew something of the interesting new prospect Suruv had been training all winter, and was anxious to see him in action. Even Aoife, who vehemently opposed the games, was curious to see how he would fair.

With the stakes so high this go around, Suruv increased his security, which meant good news for Aoife, for that meant that Pericles was called to duty with the noble family once again. Though not really able to talk, just having the other near made them both more peaceful than they had been in months, and things were much more relaxed for the moment. Until the start of the week.

The morning of the first day of the games in Azim Balda was blazing already, the coolness of early morning dissolved quickly. Galian was awoken early, and, for once, given a halfway decent breakfast before being clapped in irons and escorted to the arena by a guard of six. Once there, he was taken to a cell-like place, where other fighters already sat, waiting. He was taken to his own small cell, no more than ten by ten, with straw on the floor, a bucket in the corner, and not much else, save the smell of feculence and vomit. He was the seventh cell down, with meant he would be the seventh pair to fight that day. An hour or so later, his opponent was brought and placed directly across from him. Galian had heard of him; he was Hapeth, a big, burly dark skinned man, winner of several past fights. He was enormous; at least three times as tall as Galian and probably five times as big in sheer body mass. He laughed outright when he saw Galian was his opponent, a deep, booming laugh that resounded throughout the corridor. A laugh that did not ease Galian's nerves any.

As they sat, they heard bits and pieces of what was going on outside. They heard a speaker's voice rise and fall, the boom of the crowd join in now and again, and once and only once, respectful silence, and Galian figured they were praying to whichever god was supposed to rule this week. Then, cells were unlocked, the crowd roared again, and the fights presumably began. Again, Galian could hear very little, and see next to nothing, so he had no way of knowing who had lived nor who had died, and not much knowledge as to where he was in relation to being scheduled to fight. Hapeth didn't seem to be to worried about the oncoming ordeal; he sang a bit, played a silly childish game in which he tried to throw a rock into a hole, even took a nap.

It was all too much for Galian. While in the past he had never showed fear, and was bent on never letting Suruv, the foreman, nor any of the other slaves know he was capable of feeling fear, he felt that fear now, fear that this may be the last hour of his life, fear of what might happen and regret for all he had done. His hands shook terribly, and as much as he hated the sight, he could not stop them. Sweat poured from his brow, and his breath came in ragged gasps. He nearly cried, though he knew Hapeth should not see this, he should not let Hapeth know he was afraid. He began to do something he had not done in eleven years, since he was captured on the borders of Archenland and brought to this life of slavery and destitute; he prayed.

He prayed to Aslan, prayed for strength, for deliverance, forgiveness; he prayed that he would make it out of this alive. He poured his heart out to Aslan, did all but cry aloud for help.

The sound of metal against metal awoke him from his thoughts. The door to his cell had been opened. It was time.

Surprisingly, the fear had more or less deserted him. All that remained was determination. He _would_ make it out of this alive. He _would_ fight with all his might, and he would prevail.

He and Hapeth were led down another corridor, where they were given weaponry and leather jerkins as armor. They pressed on, down the corridor, the light at the end growing more and more, and, at the words of the announcer, he and Hapeth were escorted into the arena.

The sound was deafening, the amount of people filed into the arena amazing. There were thousands upon thousands there, all cheering, or in Galian's case, booing and laughing. He was sure he was a sight standing next to Hapeth, like grasshopper next to an eagle. He looked to where the nobility sat, and saw Suruv, looking slightly humiliated, yet assured he would be vindicated, and then Aoife, though Galian did not know her by name at the time, looking frightened and excited.

He and Hapeth were placed in the center, ten feet from each other. They drew swords and bowed, not taking their eyes off each other. The last thing Galian thought was for Aslan to give him strength before the horn was blown.

They rushed toward each other, the clash of the sword almost drowning out the roar of the crowd. Each swung and stabbed with fury unseen, and both went relatively unhurt for the first few minutes. Hapeth scored the first hit, a blow to the head that was meant to cut Galian's head off but luckily grazed the cheek. Hapeth's sheer size and strength were feats Galian knew he could not match, and would die trying. He dodged this way and that, making Hapeth reach for him, trying to tire the big man out. While Hapeth was exhausted, they both were in fact, the game of cat-and-mouse only infuriated him more, and it wasn't long after the tactics were employed that he scored another hit on Galian, this one through the shoulder of his sword arm, the blow slightly absorbed by the leather but not much. Galian dropped his sword and fell to the ground in agony. Everything suddenly seemed to slow down; the noise of the crowd replaced by the wind in Galian's ears, the pain in his shoulder suddenly replaced by the feel of the sand underneath him and the wind on his face, possibly the last time he would ever feel as much. Hapeth was slowly starting towards him, sword before him, ready to deal the blow that would kill Galian. Galian's own sword lay three feet away, and Galian wasn't sure he could get there in time, much less wield it if the moment came.

The blow came quickly and with such force that when it missed, it drove deep into the ground, nearly to the hilt, giving Galian the time he would need to roll to his sword. He caught it up, ignoring his pain as best he could, and rushed towards Hapeth, ready to end the match. Hapeth, unable to disengage his weapon, resorted to dodging and dealing such a blow to the head with his fist that Galian was knocked flat and spent several minutes recovering from the spinning world that now surrounded him. Having successfully retrieved his sword, Hapeth started to him once again, more determined to kill him this time. Galian was once again weaponless, and too dizzy to even try to locate it's whereabouts, and fought with the only weapon he had. As Hapeth came closer, Galian's foot shot out, and a sickening crunch was heard as Hapeth's kneecap dislocated. The big man dropped to the ground, calling out in anger and pain. Before he knew quite what he was doing, Galian rose as fast as he could, found his sword, and, stepping deliberately but quickly to his opponent, dealt the hardest blow he could to the monster's head. The blade passed through the temple, and dark blood spouted from the wound as the giant fell to the ground.

Galian barely heard the astonished cheer from the crowd as he was led away to his cell. He shoulder burned, his cheek stung, and he was exhausted beyond belief. Someone came to clean his wounds, the only reward a fighter would ever receive, as well as Hapeth's possessions, which weren't many. Galian desired none of them. He slept a bit as the games continued, and, when the sun was setting and the games were finished, he was led back to his former occupancy, and there he was given bread and water, quite a good meal for a slave, and slept deeply, preparing himself for the ordeal tomorrow.


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks to my reviewers. You all are my motivation and your comments are always welcome.

Disclaimer: The Chronicles of Narnia belong to Jack and all his people.

Chapter 5

Pages and pages could be spent writing about Galian's feats at the tournament in Azim Balda, but fights are much more exciting to watch than they are to read about. To summarize, Galian eventually won the tournament, despite an injured shoulder and opponents bigger and stronger than he could ever be. Suruv was the man of the hour, and before Galian's deadly stroke fell on his last opponent, he was inviting several prominent Tarkaans to a banquet the following evening.

Aoife behaved herself this evening, or behaved according to Shameth's and Suruv's views of how she should behave, and was therefore released early on good behavior. She made polite small talk with some of the other guests, but mostly looked for a chance to slip away. Her opportunity finally came, and she found herself out in the humid air, a drastic change from the iciness of the air during her last visit. She walked about aimlessly, thinking about the week's events, about how she had missed Pericles, and about how she missed her mother.

Without really meaning to, she ended up in the orchards. Her mother had worked in the orchards, and had oftentimes brought the infant Aoife with her. The smell of apples was buried in her mind, the scent arousing images of her mother bent over her, singing a strange melody to calm her crying child. For one so little, Aoife understood very well about what went on in her mother's world. She knew exactly when to be quiet so that her mother could get back to work, and knew that the bad men would hurt her mother if she was not allowed to continue her work. Aoife's last memory of her was in their small, shabby hut, and her mother was rocking her to sleep. Soldiers then burst through the door, shouting all kinds of things Aoife didn't understand. Her mother, after a little bit of protesting, was dragged from the hut. That was the last time Aoife ever saw her. The next morning, a richly dressed woman came to fetch her, a woman she would learn to call "mother" but never really mean it.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of something galloping towards her. She turned to see the shaggy pony that belonged to Pericles, with it's master sitting atop the not-so-  
valiant steed. Concerned, he dismounted, and asked her why she should be here, of all places.

"I was merely wandering. My footsteps usually bring me here, if I don't think about where I'm going."

"I see. Suruv let you go, then?"

"No, I more or less slipped out."

"He didn't stop you?"

"I don't think he saw me. What's wrong, Pericles?"she asked, now noticing the agitation of her friend's voice.

"It's Suruv. I can't be sure, but I think he and Shameth have entered negotiations for marriage."

She wasn't sure why the words shocked her so. She had expected to hear it sooner or later, for Suruv had always used marriage as threat, a tool to keep her in line. Still, hearing the affirmation of such from her friend's lips confirmed her worst fears. Images of married life with Shameth flooded her mind. She had always been strong-willed, but Shameth had ways of breaking even the bravest man's spirit, and she had no doubt he would put practice those methods with her, more so than anyone else. She could practically see the chains closing around her wrists, and the dark hallway that would lead to her cell...

"I won't marry him!"she exclaimed.

"Aoife..."

"I won't, Pericles, I'd rather be dead!"

"Don't say that!"he snapped fearfully. The thought of her dead was more than he could bear.

Fear crept into her voice as she leaned against the tree, whispering, "What am I going to do?"

It was the very question Pericles had asked himself. So many ideas came to mind, each one more unlikely than the next. He paced about, trying not to look at Aoife, for the sight of her terrified form unnerved him greatly. He stopped suddenly, dwelling on the plan that had come to mind. It had been done before, by a few. Aoife was strong and clever, she could do it...

"Run away."

"What?"she blurted, having been lost in her own thoughts.

"Run away. Escape to Narnia or Archenland, anywhere but here."

"But...that's such a long way. Can it be done?"

"There's a story in Narnian legend, about the lost Prince of Archenland. He was captured by spies of the Tisroc and brought down here, and was raised by a fisherman. One day he met a talking horse who had also been captured and sent down here, and they as well as a second talking horse and a Tarkeehena traveled the hundreds of miles, through cities and deserts, canyons and ridges until they reached Anvard. There's more to the story but I haven't the time to tell the rest now. The point is, yes, it has been done, and yes, it can be done again."

"I don't know the way, Pericles, and what would I do when I reached Archenland?"

"To the second, worry about that when you get there. To the first, I'll tell you what you need to know. We must be patient, though. We've got to devise a plan, procure some supplies for you. And before anything, you need to learn to fight."

"Will you teach me?"

"Of course. Don't worry,"he said confidently, noticing the agitation still present in her face. The more he thought on his plan, the more he was sure she could do it, "everything will be fine. You should probably rejoin the banquet, they'll be looking for you."

"Thank you, Pericles,"she said softly, then did something very uncharacteristic. Standing on her toes, she placed a timid but meaningful kiss on Pericles's mouth. As she slipped quickly away, Pericles stood rooted to the spot. His heart thundered in his chest, and he felt dizzy and lightheaded. Finally, he was able to make himself move, and as he walked away, he could still feel the warm pressure of her lips on his. He remounted his horse, and directed the steed back to the palace, unaware that a strange smile was frozen onto his face.


	6. Chapter 6

Hey, where'd everyone go? Did Chapter 5 just absolutely suck? Oh, well, maybe ya'll will like this one better.

Disclaimer: Narnia's not mine.

Chapter 6.

No sooner had Aoife stepped through the doors of the banquet hall than Suruv had announced the engagement of his daughter, Aoife, to the illustrious Shameth Tarkaan. She waded through all the flatters and suck ups that surged forth to congratulate her, and made her way up to the table where her father and Shameth sat grinning smugly. Afterwards, she faced Suruv in his office, and though she knew it would do her no good, she argued her case, trying her hardest to get him to change his mind. As expected, he refused, and felt even more smug as she stormed out of the room.

Meanwhile, Pericles was pouring over all the accounts and maps he could find, trying to come up with the best route for Aoife to take. Ideally, he would have liked it if she could have gone by boat, but with the strict international trade laws that had recently been passed, obtaining travel papers for one so highly known as she would prove difficult. He relayed all the information he found back to her, during the late hours of each evening, when everyone else was preparing themselves for a night's rest. They spent their time planning routes, efforts to obtain supplies, then an hour of so would be spent teaching Aoife to use a sword and a bow. While she was not much better than the average soldier, Pericles was proud of the efforts she had made, and could now confidently send her out into the unknown dangers of the world.

Things were still slightly awkward between them, the memory of her kiss engraved in both their minds. They found refuge in the awkward moments in developing their plans, but otherwise they seemed to have forgotten how to speak to one another. Luckily, they had enough to deal with to keep them busy, but neither one forgot it, and both knew the other was thinking about it as well.

In the meantime, Galian had won the last three tournaments, a feat unheard of. Suruv basked in the wealth his prospect brought him, and soon became the richest man in Calormen. He had everything he had ever desired: money, fame, and respect among his colleagues. Ordinary peasants cowered when they saw his convoy approach, knowing full well he had enough power to boil them alive if they so much as looked at him in a manner he did not like, and men he had once groveled to were now heaping high amounts of praise on him. They came to call nearly ever day, either for a dinner party, or for some sport, or just to chat, all events that usually ended in Suruv loaning them money with high interest rates.

One week before the match in Ilkeen was to begin, he received an announcement from his secretary that such a man had arrived today, and had hopes of joining Suruv for lunch. Suruv smirked, and as he sent the secretary away to make preparations, he wondered idly which Tarkaan this might be, how rich and powerful he was, and how should he impress this Tarkaan? Lunchtime came slowly, and finally, Suruv left his office to change into appropriate and gaudy attire before entering the room he had set aside for the special occasion. The Tarkaan he was to expect was already there, but it was not the sort of man he had expected to join him for lunch, if you take my meaning.

This man was called Ardeeb Tarkaan, and he was no ordinary Tarkaan. He was Lord Chancellor to the Tisroc himself, and considered to be the most powerful man in Calormen, as he was the man the Tisroc trusted the most to help him make decisions. He was normally a very quiet man, but when he talked, he was very charismatic. In fact, it was said he could talk even the wisest man into believing the sky was green instead of blue. He was thin, unusual for a man of his social stature, and heavily bearded, with a perfumed crimson turban and richly jeweled clothes. At the overwhelming sight of him, Suruv began to unwittingly tremble.

"Lord Chancellor!"he squeaked when he could find voice to talk, "what an unexpected but wonderful surprise!"he added, all the while planning his secretary's execution.

"I apologize for arriving on such short notice,"the other replied, in a voice that indicated he was not sorry at all, "I had hoped we could have some lunch together, perhaps discuss any benevolent gestures you might be willing to show the Tisroc (may he live forever)?"

"Nothing would delight me more,"Suruv said, though he doubted he'd eat anything. The first part of the meal was in silence, then slowly, Ardeeb breached the topic of the tournaments.

"That slave of yours, he's fighting quite brilliantly."

Pride swelled in Suruv like a balloon, "The praise of my Lord is better than any reward I could receive."

"Yes,"Ardeeb said dryly, pulling apart his chicken in a destructive manner, "We at the palace are curious, sir, as to how he appeared in your service, instead of the Tisroc's army, where superb fighters such as himself are needed?"

Cold sweat poured down Suruv's body like a waterfall, and for a moment he wasn't sure how to respond.

"Well...my Lord...when he came to me...he wasn't a fighter at all, just a worthless slave."

"I see. And you trained him to be the fighter he is now?"

"Yes, my Lord,"Suruv said quickly, knowing now it was foolish to be proud.

"That is interesting. Very, very interesting,"Ardeeb, mumbled, finishing off his food. Taking a deep breath, he continued calmly, "You know of the peasant rebellions in the west?"

"I have heard of them"Suruv promptly answered.

"And of the insubordinates on the frontier in the south?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"And the Thieves' Guild that has now reportedly set it's headquarters in the Oasis in the Great Desert, uncomfortably close to Tashbaan?"

"I have heard accounts, my Lord."

"Not to mention those idle, stubborn countries in the North that remain free?"

"They are hated to me, my Lord."

"I see. Well, I must say, I find it appalling that you know of all these events and still have not offered to contribute to solving these little problems."

"I have paid the appropriate amount of tribute to the military,"Suruv challenged, but a second later knew he should have kept his mouth shut, for Ardeeb began to grow dangerous.

"Do you dare contradict me?"he growled.

"No-no sir! I merely said that to make sure you knew my tribute was paid, and that those confounded collectors hadn't stolen it. Which brings to mind, there has been an incredibly amount of hoarding amongst the collectors..."

"That is irrelevant to why I'm here. You have trained fighters like this Galian to be killing machines, the very thing the Tisroc (may he live forever) needs in his military. He has sent me here with a proposition."

"A proposition, sir?"

"Yes. He would like you to train his troops to be the killing machines you boast so about, and he would like it if he could obtain any current fighters you might have now."

"You want me to train the military?"

"We do. We will let you finish this season, but after the fighting season is over, and not a second later, we expect to see you in Tashbaan to go over the training curriculum."

Half an hour later, Ardeeb had left, and Suruv was sitting in his office, reviewing what he had just heard. What he was worried about most was money. He was not foolish enough to know that training recruits would pay nearly as much as investing in fighters, and also he would more or less become a puppet of Ardeeb's and the Tisroc's (may he live forever). Then again, there would be much less risk involved, and more assurance that the money would still come in. As a trainer, his earnings depended on how well his slaves fought, which was usually an uncertain future. Not to mention, though Galian had brought him an immense amount of wealth, how much longer could he do so? He had already lived through three tournaments, more than any slave he had ever heard of. With each match, the odds for Galian's survival grew thin, and eventually, his luck would run out. When it did, Suruv would find himself owing many people who were smart enough to realize as much a lot of money.

Suruv had made up his mind. When it came to the question of money or dignity, Suruv always, _always_, picked money.


	7. Chapter 7

Thanks again, my faithful reviewers (particularly Poison Blossom).

Disclaimer: Though I consider myself C.S. Lewis reincarnate, Narnia does not belong to me.

Chapter 7.

The city buzzed with excitement. Everywhere, vendors could be seen stocking their booths, expecting big sales this week, and beggars put on their most pitiful clothes and wore the most destitute look on their faces. Guards marched about in large groups, though no one was sure where they thought they were going. Tashbaan was three times as crowded as usual, as nearly everyone in the country who could afford to had come to watch the greatest spectacle of the year. This week was the Great Tournament, the last of the season, where winners of all the previous tournaments would fight to see who was the ultimate champion.

To say Galian was nervous would be an understatement. He had become the peoples' hero, and the pressure for him to win, not only from them, but from Suruv as well, was incredibly high. Even as he left Suruv's regular palace, his fellow slaves, who had never been known to say one kind word to him, cheered as he was led away, and all wished him well in the fights.

However, even he knew, as Suruv had, that he was pushing his luck. He had the protection of Aslan, he knew that, but it didn't quell that sick feeling he got in his stomach every time he looked out his window to see the arena looming in the distance. His fellow fighters looked equally as nervous, partly because of the upcoming tasks they would have to perform, but also because they were all hoping they wouldn't draw the great Galian as their opponent. He might have not been so sure of himself, but the others were perfectly positive he was capable of cutting their heads off, and were absolutely terrified of him.

It was a curious thing, really. You would expect the finalists of these tournaments to strong hearted, brave souls, but in all reality, they were the most cowardly of them all. They had survived mostly by keeping their enemy on the run, usually succeeding in making him trip himself up or tiring himself out, which allowed them the time and energy to kill him, rather a dirty trick, you might think, but this was a sport where if you didn't cheat you usually didn't win, and the price of not winning was more than these men were willing to pay. Whatever the reason was, they were sure that Galian was the ulitmate fighter already, and if they hadn't been so much more afraid of their masters, they would have given him the title then and there without any reservations.

The guard that brought them their food was a most annoying man, jeering and making fun of their fears, assuring them all that it wouldn't matter if the bread was too stale, or if the meat was healthy enough to eat, or that the water might not have some sort of disease hidden in it; they would all be dead soon anyway. He stayed away from Galian mostly, either out of intimidation or perhaps he wasn't too sure any jest he would come up with would faze Galian, for even though the young man was a nervous wreck inside, he kept his cool composure at all times. One day, however, as he brought the food, the guard darted for Galian's cell first, with mouldy bread, stale cheese, and dirty water for his meal. As Galian silently took it, the guard, who was slightly perturbed that Galian hadn't asked him why he was so cheerful, taunted, "I know something. About you. Something that will happen to you when you win,"he said "when you win" more for the benefit of the others, who overheard the entire conversation. When Galian didn't take the bait, the guard continued, "Something quite horrible. I think you'd be better off dying, though I doubt one of these filthy cowards would be able to do the job."

Still, Galian kept silent, slightly curious but upon hearing that he'd be better off dead, decided he didn't want to know.

"Maybe I shan't tell you. Maybe I'll let them surprise you with it as they had planned to do,"still not getting a rise out of Galian, he continued, a little sharply, "you must be too stupid to know what I'm saying, otherwise you'd be begging me to tell you by now. You're not a normal sort of man, are you? I suppose not, being Narnian. I must say, the highest ranking person in Narnia is not fit the wipe the boots of the lowest man in all of Calormen."

Galian still tried his best to make the guard think he wasn't listening, though he did tremble slightly and he was sure his face was flushed.

"You know, I think I shall tell you,"the guard began again, "just so you can be good and afraid when the time comes. You might have brought that Tarkaan of yours a lot of money, but not nearly as much as he's found he could make. You've got quite a price on your head, you see. The Tisroc (may he live forever) has noticed it too. He's offered Suruv quite a lot of money for you, so he can put you in his slaves' brigade. How do yo like that?"

Galian dropped the cheese that had been midway to his mouth. The slaves' brigade? No, it couldn't be! They were the brunt of the army, the ones required to do the most despicable jobs, the ones that were first sent into the most dangerous situations or against companies ten times larger than they. He'd be dead in three months.

The guard, seeing that he had successfully taunted Galian, moved on to the others. Galian could eat no more. It was a lose-lose situation for him. He would either die soon in the tournaments, or he would die later as a soldier. Neither appealed to him very much, given the choice, he'd rather have chosen to go down in a flame of glory, not belonging to anyone but himself.

He stared out the window, the ever present arena glaring at him as tauntingly as that guard had. He stared back, as if proving to the arena itself he wasn't afraid, all the while a little plan developing in his head.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8.

I hope you guys like this one, it's given me a lot of grief the past few weeks.

Disclaimer: I think everyone knows by now the Chronicles of Narnia aren't mine.

Galian arose earlier than necessary the next morning, feeling slightly queasy and very agitated. He was up and pacing with the demeanor and impatience of a lion long before the guards brought him his food. His opponents were scared outright at the impassive and fierce look on his face, and they ate little for breakfast. The time to leave for the arena finally came, and they were taken out of their cells, shackled together, and led out of the prison and along the streets of Tashbaan, where peasants and nobles alike assembled, catcalling and jeering and even throwing fruit or stones at them. Tashbaan was so crowded it was on the brink of a riot, and Galian knew if one erupted now he'd have no chance of defending himself, even if he weren't chained to all the others, who'd no doubt give in to fear and madness.

Luckily, the distance to the arena was a short one, and no riot ensued. The were led to more cells, and he found himself in the very last straw ridden hole. Whoever it was that had drawn up the pools had very wisely put Galian and his opponent as the last pair of the day to fight, to ensure the money would still come in until the very last possible second. Galian ignored all the fuss about the beginning ceremonies, and the silence as they prayed to some god or another, and everything else he had grown used to over the past two months or so. There was precious little to do now but wait until his turn.

He glanced over to the man who was to be his opponent, a small yet burly dark haired slave from the westernmost province, a man named Haidar. He looked absolutely terrified, and Galian wondered if the man's own mind might not trick him into scaring himself to death.

"Are you afraid of dying?"Galian asked him, standing and leaning against the cell bars.

"Do not mock me,"the other snapped.

"I am not mocking. I want to help you."

"I do not understand. How can you help me?"

"Do you want to live to see another day?"

"Of course."

"Then I will strike a bargain with you. I will spare you, if you promise to pretend to kill me."

"What?"

"An opportunity will come for you that will give you a clear shot. If you will pretend to drive your sword into me, I will spare you and you shall live another day."

"What if I take advantage of the opportunity and I really do kill you?"

"You know it will take more than one blow to stop me. I'll kill you if you try anything. Do we have an agreement?"

A few hours later, Galian found himself walking into the glowing sunshine of the arena. Upon his entrance, thousands of cheers and screams of approval erupted from the gathered crowd. The announcer had to wait several minutes for the din to die down before introducing Galian and Haidar. Then, each took their stance before the Tisroc, who was in attendance, and Galian's opponent bowed to him. Galian did not.

It was a sort of thing that made Galian rather infamous. It was usually customary for the fighters to bow to the Lord of the Province the matches for that week were held in. Galian, however, never bowed. When asked why, he claimed he showed allegiance to no one, least of all the Calormene lords. Though some were shocked he did not bow to the Tisroc, most expected it. They did not, however, expect him to do what he did. A special person was in attendance today, someone that humbled even the defiant Northerner. Sitting to the far right of the Tisroc was none other than Rilian, King of Narnia, along with a few other ambassadors from the North. Galian had seen him once as a boy, and even at this distance, and despite the years the King had aged, the jaded young man knew him at once. And now, he drew his sword, and saluted the King and all his ambassadors in the Narnian fashion, thus enraging the Tarkaans and leaving Suruv swearing his slave would see the gallows that very afternoon.

The horns were blown, and the fight started. While his opponent may have been thinking Galian would let him walk away with a quick and easy victory, Galian had no intentions of allowing as much. He wanted to draw this fight out as much as he could, and try to make it appear as if he were doing his very best, so there would be no suspicion of foul play.

Haidar was surprised at the intensity with which Galian fought, and he wondered that Galian didn't change the deal. He was reassured when Galian pretended to stumble, giving the other a clear shot that struck Galian just behind his legs. Dangerously crippled now, Galian stumbled and limped here and there, making it difficult to outrun his opponent's strokes.

Haidar, taking advantage of a final stumble on Galian's part, pulled Galian's head back so his neck was exposed. For a moment, the two men stared at each other, the world seeming to stand still. Then, the blade was pressed to Galian's neck, barley nicking him, but having all the appearances of a deadly stroke to the crowd, who sat too far away to be able to determine anything different. The crowd went absolutely ballistic, and they stormed onto the arena floor, and for a moment Galian was in danger of being trampled to death. However, guards were called to control the crowd, and Galian's body was taken away.

He was carried a great distance, and despite his curiosity, he did not dare open his eyes until he was absolutely sure he was alone. When the voices of those who had carried him grew fainter, he peeked through one eye, and found he was lying in a poorly lit, two-roomed stone house. Around him were the bodies of the others who had been killed, and for a moment, Galian allowed himself the faintest feeling of pity for them before wondering what would happen next.

"Well,"came the gruff voice of one of those that had carried him, "I expect we ought to wrap the bodies up before they start to stink."

"Which one should we start with? The one that was undefeated for so long?"

"No, we'll save him for last. I want to take a good look at him, just to see what sort of man he was."

The process of embalming the others took a horrible long time, and Galian began to grow impatient once again. The pair started and stopped so sporadically and for unpredictable amounts of time that he had no way of determining how long he was to sit and wait for them to examine him.

Finally, well past midnight, as he heard one of them remark, it was his turn. They brought him to the table, stripped him, and searched for the tell tale wound that had ended Galian's life.

"I don't understand, didn't they say he was cut across the neck? Look, there's barely a scratch."

"And since when were you a physician? Help me out a bit, will you?"

"All the same, Fahd, we ought to make sure he's dead..."and Galian could hear the sound of a sword being withdrawn from its sheath.

"Hasan, put that ridiculous thing away. Honestly, I think the lack of sleep had made you dumb. Go to bed, I can finish him. You can take the bodies to river in the morning."

Hasan shuffled away, dejected, and Fahd was left alone. He bustled about here and there, for now preparing the spices and cloths that would be used to wrap Galian in. Only when he left the room did Galian move. First, his eyes darted to where the other had laid the sword. Quickly, for he had no idea of knowing when Fahd would return, he caught it up, and waited behind the door for the embalmer to return, which he did presently, and of course the first thing he noticed was the absence of a body. Galian killed him quickly before he had a chance to cry out. Prior to leaving, he borrowed the undertaker's clothes and cloak, and, after hiding the sword as best he could, wrapped the body clumsily in the cloths that had been prepared, and laid him in the room with the others. When everything was set, he stole as quickly and quietly as he could into the streets of Tashbaan, which were still given to revelry and jollification. Nodding appropriately, for it would make it that much harder to spot him, he navigated his way through the streets, and was lost in the crowd.


	9. Chapter 9

I'm not entirely happy with it, but I had to put something out before everyone lost interest. Thank you for the reviews, keep them coming.

Disclaimer: You all know the routine.

Chapter 9.

Suruv was beyond livid when he saw the blow that killed his beloved money making warrior, but it didn't stop him from accepting an invitation to a nobleman's home for another banquet. He was moody the rest of the afternoon, and Aoife was more than happy to find any and every excuse to avoid him.

She stepped out to the stables, where her horse gave her a cheerful greeting. Stroking the beautiful animal's nose, her eyes strayed out the window to a double peaked mountain Pericles had told her was called Mount Pire. An uneasy feeling settled in her stomach at the gray sight of it. She was ready to leave Calormen forever, but the vagueness of the future made her nervous. She knew she was being irrational, that any amount of mystique was more hopeful than a life as Shameth's wife, but all the same, she couldn't help but wonder what she would do when she got there.

She heard someone approach, and was relieved to see Pericles.

"I suppose Suruv has sent you here to urge me to get ready for the banquet?"

"Indeed. Are you alright?"he asked her, noticing the almost queasy look on her face.

"Of course,"she reassured him, "I just wish it was all over."

"So do I. Are you ready?"

"I suppose. The peasants are terribly chaotic after the death of Galian. Are you sure it's safe outside?"

"Maybe not safe,"he replied, escorting her out of the stable, "but you've less of a risk of being noticed or missed. Don't worry,"he added, consolingly, "I wouldn't send you out there in this situation were I not fully confident of your abilities. You've progressed very will with your sword fighting and archery. I'm proud of you."

He was rewarded with her glowing smile, and the two proceeded to walk to back to the house. Both were silent and thoughtful, each trapped in their own thoughts, though they were both thinking the same thing: if all went well, this would be the last peaceful moment they would share with one another.

Aoife regretfully held back all the meaningful things she wanted to say to him, hoping and praying she would be able to do so at another, more convenient time. They parted ways when they reached the sandstone building, where Aoife surrendered herself to the mercy of her ladies-in-waiting, who, for the next hour and a half, primped and styled Aoife until she banished them out of temper and waited the remaining hour for the call to leave.

The pink and golden rays of twilight glowed on the city. Everywhere, the sounds of shouts and chaos still rang. Aoife shook her head as she climbed into the carriage. She too had been taken throughly by surprise at the death of Galian. She, like so many others that had seen him fight, had thought of him as invincible, a constant that couldn't be eradicated by the most drastic of means. And yet, she sat now in a world without him, and, though she couldn't explain it, the thought made her sad.

The palace where the banquet was held was gaudy and over-decorated, even by the standards of a nobleman like Suruv or Shameth. The owner of the establishment, a hefty, loud man named Yasser, took it upon himself to give a tour of his many-roomed and colorful estate, located outside the walls of Tashbaan. Everywhere she looked, Aoife saw the statue of a Calormen hero long dead or a depiction of Tash or another god woven into a tapestry, hung high above the heads of all.

Though she tried to strike up a conversation with random people about the treasures Yasser boasted, none of them lasted, for she was too nervous and had too much on her mind to be able to keep up a conversation. She walked about aimlessly, and fixated herself in front of the painting of a lion, lying in a desert, black mountains rising in the background, glaring sinisterly at the viewer. The lion himself wore an angry expression, his red eyes boring into Aoife's, giving her the feeling that he was trying to steal her soul. His teeth were not bared, but the frown on his face was just as awful as the teeth would have been, and his claws were razor sharp, the tips of them stained red.

"It's a rotten picture,"a voice said behind her. She turned to see none other than her "beloved" fiancee, Shameth. He stumbled and reeled towards her, obviously drunk, and Aoife knew why. He had bet much more money than necessary on Galian's win, in an effort to show off to his fellow Tarkaans, and had ultimately lost most of what he owned.

He nearly fell onto her, and grabbed her painfully by the arm, "Do you see that lion? He is the one those foul demons-in-human-form worship. His heart is black, and he represents all that the Barbarians of the north stand for. You,"he added, squeezing her arm harder, making tears come to Aoife's eyes, "you're just like them. You don't belong here, with us, the supreme race. Your father should have killed you long ago for displaying the rude and disrespectful behavior you have shown me. When you are my wife, I will remedy that. Oh yes, you will regret you ever crossed me,"and with a final shove, he stumbled away.

Aoife, close to tears, but more out of anger now than pain, turned to see the face of a pale, brown haired young woman, with clear gray eyes and a concerned look.

"My dear,"the other woman asked, "are you alright?"

"Yes, of course, I'm fine,"Aoife reassured her, now noticing Pericles standing by the door across the room, looking worried as well. At a shake of her head, he halted his path that led towards her, and stayed at his post by the door, still watchful. Meanwhile, the young woman was making introductions.

"I'm Delwyn, of Archenland. And you?"

"Aoife Tarkheena, I am the daughter of Suruv Tarkaan. His fighter, Galian, was killed today."

"Yes, I heard all the commotion over him. Was he a great fighter?"

"The best my father has produced so far. If I may, though, why has Archenland taken an interest in our slave fights?"

The other shook her head, "Merely diplomacy. King Rilian and the ambassadors from Narnia and Archenland were invited to stay a fortnight by the Tisroc, and he extended the invitation to the arena. It's quite a vicious sport, I don't see how you can stand it."

"I usually hate watching them,"Aoife explained, "but Galian's abilities piqued my curiosity. He was remarkable, I wish you had seen him in his prime."

"So do I. He looked,"here Delwyn paused, choosing her words cautiously, not knowing who Aoife was and who she might spread them to, "he looked, and I don't presume to accuse Calormen of anything, but he looked...almost _Narnian_."

"He was Narnian. The slave trader told my father so."

Delwyn looked disturbed at the information she had just received, so much so that it touched Aoife's heart. She wanted to discuss further, but unfortunately, Delwyn was called away by another courtier. Before she left, she looked at the picture Aoife had been staring at, "Your friend was right, you know,"she told Aoife, "it is a rotten picture. Aslan doesn't look like that at _all._ Excuse me, please."

Aoife watched her walk away with puzzlement, and turned her attention to where Pericles stood. He had been trying to catch her eye, she could tell. As soon as he did, he nodded to her, then disappeared out the door. Aoife took a deep breath and pushed her way through the crowd of people to the door he had just exited. It was time.

"Making some influential friends, weren't you?"he asked her as they met outside.

"What do you mean?"

"Didn't she introduce herself?"

"Yes. Her name is Delwyn, from Archenland."

"Did she tell you she was Princess Delwyn of Archenland?"

"What? No, she didn't."

Yasser had obviously invested more into his art collection than into his defenses, for there was only a handful of guards keeping watch over the thin wall that separated Yasser from the rest of humanity, and they weren't doing that very well. No one even questioned Pericles as he led Aoife to the stables where his horse was munching lazily on straw. The appropriate measures were taken to make sure their horseback ride would be comfortable, then they were on their way. The courtyard was deserted, and Pericles hypothesized that the guards were taking advantage of the Tarkaan's open wine cellars. The fresh air greeted them as they passed beyond the gate, with Aoife constantly looking back to make sure they weren't being watched. Pericles urged the horse on faster, and they rode in a quickly paced trot until they reached the edge of the forest, on the edge of which Aoife's own horse was stationed as previously planned. They proceeded into the dark cover of the trees, where Aoife changed into the soldier's outfit Pericles had acquired for her. She looked very ridiculous, and felt extraordinarily uncomfortable, but it was a necessary disguise. She watched as Pericles set her old clothes on fire, an almost ceremonious act, and saw the remorse in his face in the firelight.

He caught her eye, and softly said, "You'll take care of yourself, won't you?"

"Absolutely. You taught me well,"she paused, then, "I will see you again, won't I?"

"Who knows? After this, I might feel the urge to run away myself,"he smiled but knew the joke had fallen flat. He continued, more seriously, "there would be no reason to sta..."

He was interrupted by a snap of a stick behind him, an action that belong to neither he nor the horses. He turned, his hand shooting to his sword, but before he could withdraw it a blade pressed itself to his neck.

"Don't try it, Princess,"a voice called, though Aoife's hand had barely twitched. Her eyes fixed frightfully on Pericles, who looked positively horrified.

"No,"he said in a hoarse voice, "it can't be..."

"What, Pericles? What can't be?"

He didn't answer her. He continued to stare unbelievingly at the face the dark partially concealed, all the while saying, "You died. I saw you. You..."

"Who is it, Pericles?"Aoife asked in a voice that wouldn't be ignored.

"It's..it's the Narnian. Galian."

She wasn't inclined to believe him, until Galian stepped into the firelight. His face wore a mocking look, though Aoife could sense the desperation within him.

"This is an interesting scene I've run into,"Galian said lightly, "the Captain of the Guards and a Princess dressed as a soldier standing in the middle of a wood in the dark. This could only mean an escape of some sort."

"Do you intend to blackmail us?"Pericles shot.

"Not necessarily. Actually, a idea has just occurred to me where we can help each other."

"And that is?"Aoife asked.

"Judging by the equipment you carry, I suppose you're going to attempt a journey across the desert to the northern countries. Why shouldn't we band together? I myself would like nothing more than to taste to fresh air of Narnia. I could escort her."

"Absolutely not!"roared Pericles, and would have attacked Galian at the mere mention of so had he blade not pressed tighter to his neck.

"Now, Captain,"Galian warned, "be logical. I've made the journey across the desert, and I know a thing or two about swordplay. I'd make sure she reached Archenland in one piece. Or you could take me back to Suruv like you're supposed to, and I might accidently let it slip that the missing Tarkheena is en route to Narnia, aided and abetted by none other than the virtuous Captain of the Guards. Or you could kill me, which you and I both know would not happen. The choice is yours, Captain, and if I may say so, it seems to be an easy one."

As egotistical as he sounded, Aoife knew he was right, and voiced the answer to Pericles.

"I will not let you ride across the desert with this filthy criminal!"he nearly shouted.

"A criminal, am I?"Galian asked indignantly. The other two ignored him.

"Pericles, like he said, he knows the way, and he's a good fighter."

"What if he takes advantage of you?"Pericles argued.

"I swear on my honor, Captain, I'll be a perfect gentleman,"Galian chimed in, a promise that did not ease Pericles's worries in the least. "Pericles,"Aoife pleaded, "I won't get another chance at this, and we're wasting time. If he says he won't hurt me, I believe him. He wants to get to Narnia as much as I do, and he wouldn't do anything to jeopardize that."

Pericles sighed. He didn't trust Galian, not one bit. There was nothing to stop him from harming Aoife except his word, and Galian didn't trust that either. But Aoife was right. Time was running out, and Galian was the best sword fighter he had ever seen, and would be an ideal bodyguard.

"Alright,"he relented, "alright."

Galian withdrew his sword, and Pericles took the opportunity to seize Galian by his collar and threw him against a tree, despite Aoife's protests. Tightening his hold, he growled lowly and menacingly, "If anything happens to her, anything at all, I'll kill you, do you understand?" Galian nodded with a smirk.

He released him, and the trio walked to the edge of the forest, the path that led to the Tombs of the Ancient Kings not far away. Pericles faced his friend, "Are you sure you know what to do?"

She smiled, "Of course. I have someone to help me now, if I go astray."

His glanced darted to Galian uneasily, "I still don't like this, Aoife."

"We don't have a choice. I'll either go with him or not go at all."

Silence fell upon both of them, and losing all his composure, Pericles grabbed Aoife and kissed her like he would never stop. Galian rolled his eyes but looked to the horse in an effort to give them privacy. The couple , completely oblivious to everything except each other, continued their final goodbye. Breathing heavily, Pericles whispered, "I wish I could have married you. I've loved you for so long."

"I love you too. I'll miss you terribly."

They kissed again, then urgency overtook them, and she pulled away. She mounted her horse and waited patiently as Galian climbed clumsily behind her. She grasped Pericles's hand, whispered her final goodbye, then galloped down the path as fast as the horse would go. Pericles waited until he could no longer hear the beating of hooves, then mounted his steed, an overwhelming sense of sadness building up inside him.


	10. Chapter 10

Thanks you guys, for your patience. And thank you to the ones who took the time to review. To answer a question someone asked, Aoife's name is pronounced _ee-fah_...it's an Irish name, I believe. If there are anymore questions, email me at and let me know.

This chapter is dedicated to the Lunch Crew. Thanks for a great year.

Disclaimer: Narnia is the property of C.S. Lewis.

Chapter 10

Aoife sped off into the night, urging the horse on quicker than absolutely necessary until Galian cautioned her to slow down, that the horse would have a long enough journey without her pushing him on so hard. In truth, Aoife wanted to get out of Calormen before she changed her mind and returned to Pericles. She knew the hardships she had faced in Calormen were by far worse than any person could have ever faced, but she had left her heart with Pericles. Galian, meanwhile, was sitting behind her with eyes shut and teeth clenched. As a boy in Narnia, he had never had much love for horses, ones that didn't talk that is, and as a young man, he hated riding them even more. By the time they reached the Tombs of the Ancient Kings, he was sore and irritable and dreading another several miles or so on horseback.

Aoife led the horse down to the river so that it could get one last good drink before the journey, which wouldn't bring them to any water for some time. She rejoined Galian a few minutes later, who was studying the northern mountains as if they held some great secret. Standing beside him, she said awkwardly, "Pericles and I decided the northwest route would be the best to take."

He faced her, asking incredulously, "What on earth for? It takes twice as long."

"It is still a secret to most of the Tarkaans, and we'll have a river to go by,"Aoife argued, "Going north is the most predictable route we could take. Besides, I've heard some horrible stories about the oasis. They say thieves and criminals live there."

Galian snorted, "All you Tarkaans think slaves are criminals. Like your friend back there."

"Galian, you've killed ten people _that I know of_,"Aoife shot back icily.

"I did what I had to do to stay alive,"he snapped, "as did you."

The pair stood, fuming at each other, until Galian said, "Listen, I swore the Captain that I would make sure nothing happened to you. I know my word doesn't mean much to you, but in all my life I've never broken a promise, as hard as that may be to believe. If there are any thieves in the oasis, which I believe there aren't, I'll make sure no harm comes to either one of us. If we travel due north, we'll be there by this afternoon, and be in Anvard before the Calormenes even leave Tashbaan. If we travel northwest, it gives them that much more time to catch up to us, and I'm not keen on returning to slavery, are you?"

As much as she didn't want to go against the plans she and Pericles had made, she had to admit Galian was making sense. If she had to go, she wanted to get there quickly, and the prospect of being there by the afternoon appealed to her. Eventually, she relented to Galian's proposal, and in the gray hours of the early morning, the two set off from the tombs.

The first thing Aoife noticed as she traveled was how bitterly tired she was. She had experienced quite an exciting day, to say the least, and had little sleep in the past day or so. Now, lethargy settled on her so slowly she was almost unaware that she was falling asleep, until she shook herself sometime later. She fought a warrior's battle to stay awake, and vowed with each miserable passing minute that the moment she reached Archenland and safety, she would find a place, however uncomfortable, to sleep in. The next thing she noticed, which was the only thing keeping her from falling completely asleep, was how badly her hands and face hurt. The cold wind and sand bit at her fingers and nose, and she wished with all her heart now that she had brought something to cover them. She finally voiced her complaints to Galian, who rolled his eyes behind her, and thought of telling her that her fatigue and pain were nothing next to the eleven years of hell he had endured, but instead suggested they dismount and walk a bit to keep themselves warm and to keep her awake, for as much as he despised her weakness, she was the only one who could pilot that cursed horse, and she needed to be alert.

After so many hours of alternately walking and riding, hours that passed like a dream to Aoife, the lush greenness of the oasis greeted them with the morning sunshine. It was several miles long, and looked out of place in the dry sand that surrounded them. The travelers gave no thought to this, however, but urged on forward as if their lives depended on it. In no time at all, three dry throats were sucking down the lukewarm, sandy water as if it were water from the spring of Aslan himself. When her thirst was finally quenched, Aoife looked up to take in her surroundings. Rough patches of grass grew here and there, grass that had not yet withered under the immense heat. Palm trees dotted the landscape for several miles, casting much needed shade from the already overbearing sun.

"It's a beautiful place, isn't it?"she asked Galian, who had crawled from the pool, wet from head to toe.

"I daresay,"he agreed, "but I'd rather we get moving."

"Why the hurry? You said we had a good start on the Tarkaans."

"I said we'd be there by afternoon if we hurry. That means we can't waste time admiring the view."

Aoife would have had a sharp reply, except that something caught her eye somewhere to the right. It had just enough time to duck into a thicket before Aoife could recognize what it was. Noticing her frightened face, Galian looked to where her gaze traveled, but saw nothing.

"Perhaps we'd better get moving,"he suggested cautiously.

"Yes, perhaps your right,"she agreed distantly, starting towards the horse, not taking her gaze off the spot she had seen the thing disappear. She was so concentrated on that particular spot that she didn't have time to duck when something large and hard collided with her head.

It took her several minutes to realize what was going on; the blow to her head combined with the exhaustion she already felt made it hard to focus. By the time she had come to her senses, it was too late. She was already bound from head to toe and lying face down in the corse grass. She could hear Galian's fruitless attempts to escape, and before he was finally subdued he had killed at least three of their assailants. But in the end it really did him no good. There were at least twenty more of the biggest, dirtiest, and meanest looking men Aoife had ever seen. After they had moved their captives out of the way, the thieves proceeded to strip the horse of all it had, including the money and food Aoife had brought for the journey. When they had taken anything that would be of any use, they began moving northward, forcing Aoife and Galian to move along with them.

They moved at a pace entirely too quick for weary travelers such as Galian and Aoife, and time and time again suffered the bite of a whip for their inadequate speed. To take her mind off of her exhaustion, Aoife racked her brain with possible escape tactics, each one as ludicrous as the first. Then again, her mind wasn't working properly, as she had never known a moment when she had been as frightened as she was at this one. Galian was almost as afraid, but was much better at looking intimidating rather than scared, and hoped his demeanor would bully the thieves into submission as it had his opponents. The thieves, on the other hand, seemed not to notice, and were having a grand old time, laughing and jeering in the stupidest of manners. They would answer no questions as to where the prisoners were being taken. They really did not address the prisoners at all, so absorbed were they in their revelry and their catch.

Finally the convoy stopped. Galian and Aoife were once again cast aside, and Aoife's horse, which the assailants had pulled along with them, was pushed into a makeshift corral with a dozen or so other horses. A fire was lit, and a stew that smelled horrible and yet made the hunger that had been growing in Aoife for the past hour even worse. As the clan ate, she whispered to Galian,

"Galian? What do we do? How do we get out of this?"

Which was the very question Galian had been asking himself ever since they had gotten themselves in this mess. His pride was taking an enormous beating at the moment; he had truly assumed the stories of thieves and criminals were nothing but tales told to frighten the general population from wanting to travel north. Not to mention, the fights he had won in the past had inadvertently given him a larger-than-life image of himself, and it was major damage to his ego to have been overtaken by the dirtiest and most ignorant group of people he had ever seen, which is saying a lot, given his position.

"Galian? What do we do?"Aoife repeated.

"How tight are your ropes?"

She wiggled about a bit, then reported, "With a little work, I might just be able to untie myself."

"Hurry. If they don't kill us, the Tarkaans that catch up with us will."

He worked at his as well, but by the end of an hour they had blistered wrists and little progress. The thieves continued to ignore them for some time, finishing up their meal and telling stories lazily as if they hadn't a care in the world.

A piercing scream interrupted their joy. They all looked to the owner of the scream, who had a large, black arrow in his chest and dark red blood oozing down his chest. Without warning, that single shot turned into a volley, and the once cheerful band of thieves was thrown into utter chaos as the onslaught continued.

"Tarkaans!"Galian exclaimed, "how did they get here so quickly?"

Noticing Aoife and Galian, a soldier raced to where they were, and proceeded to untie them.

"We really haven't the time to take you back,"he informed them as he was cutting, "we're searching for a missing Tarkheena. She ran away early this morning."

"How do you know?"Galian asked.

"One of the Captains told us. Pericles, I think was his name."

The common mention of that name barely registered with Aoife. When it did, horror ten times worse than it had ever been before attacked her, followed by a maddening rage. As soon as she was free, she snatched the sword from an unsuspecting and surprised soldier, and before she quite knew what she was doing, his body lay before her in a puddle of blood. Galian eyed her with awe and almost respect as she came to her senses and cut his bonds.

"We need to go, now,"he told Aoife, who, despite the shock of killing a man for the first time in her life, reacted surprisingly quickly, catching the reins of a passing horse and waiting with remarkable patience as Galian scrambled up behind her. They galloped through the battle, trying their hardest not to be shot. Around them, the trees were burning, and the bodies of thieves and even a few soldiers lay here and there. By the time order was restored, Aoife and Galian could be seen topping the next sand dune.

"Never mind them,"the commander said, "we're not here to capture thieves. The Tarkheena can't have gotten much further..."

Meanwhile, Aoife was pushing the horse as hard as she could, not daring to slow down or look back. Twilight fell upon them when the horse stopped out of mere stubbornness, and the two agreed it might be safe to walk for now. The excitement had given them an energy boost, but now they could feel that energy slowly draining from their bodies. They were so bone-weary they could barely move their legs, but they knew they couldn't stop.

A time finally came when they could travel no longer without a rest. They sat with their faces to the south, watching cautiously for the first signs of enemy movement. Neither said anything for a long time until Aoife muttered,

"He can't have."

"What?"Galian asked.

"He can't have betrayed me. He wouldn't. We cared so much for each other. He just can't have."

"He was the only one who knew, Aoife. He pointed those soldiers in the precise direction we were going. I didn't want to say anything before, but he had an untrustworthy look about him."

"You only say that because he's a Calormene,"she snapped fiercely, in a voice no one expected to come out of a girl so beautiful, "you're as bad as he is, making generalizations and judging people like that."

"Aoife, I know it's a blow, but it's the truth. He was the only one who knew which way we were going. He had to have told him."

Aoife was silent for a moment, then said faintly, "No, he didn't know which route we were taking."

"Of course he did."

"No, Galian, don't you see? Our original plan was to go northwest, through the stony valley and along the Winding Arrow. We weren't supposed to go north. He sent the soldiers north, because he knew Suruv would expect him to have a hand in this, and if he gave a show of not wanting to tell him and then giving them the wrong directions, Suruv would take as much time as he needed searching this entire area. Pericles was trying to help us, but he inadvertently sent them straight to us. It's not his fault, he didn't know the plan had changed."

Galian thought on it for a moment. It made perfect sense.

"So, if we had gone northwest like originally planned, we wouldn't have had to worry about either the thieves or the Tarkaans."

"Well, yes."

Galian may have been stubborn at times and overestimated his abilities, but he was man enough to know when he had made a mistake, "I'm sorry, Aoife. This is all my fault. I suggested we come this way."

Ten hours earlier, she might have either said "I told you so," or else not have accepted Galian's apology. Call it fatigue, or maybe something in the past ten hours had changed her views towards Galian's character, or else the fact that he knew when he was wrong and was willing to admit it made him that much more human in her eyes. Whatever it was, Aoife only replied sincerely, "It's alright, Galian. We're on our way now, that's all that matters."


	11. Chapter 11

Thanks again to all who reviewed. You guys are great. Keep it coming!

Disclaimer: Narnia belongs to Lewis, my inspiration.

Chapter 11.

Aoife wasn't exactly sure what happened next. She had really meant to close her eyes, just to rest for a moment. By the time she realized she was asleep, it was sleep so deep she had no chance of dragging herself out of it even if she had wanted to, for this was possibly the best sleep she had ever had. She awoke a few hours later, uncommonly stiff and a tad stifled. She managed to open her eyes, and for a moment saw nothing. It was still the dark hours of early morning and her vision was limited. Feeling about her, she felt not sand but pricking, biting rocks so sharp she wondered she had been able to sleep at all. Upon looking upwards, and seeing the gray sky clash with the rock walls that reach high above her, she realized they were in a crevice or canyon of a sort. A few feet away from her, Galian was snoring softly, curled up like he were asleep on a king's mattress.

A saddle bag lay not far from her, and she moved to inspect them softly, for she did not want to disturb Galian. Inside was a half a loaf of bread, dried meat, and a lump of dry cheese, and some fruit, as well as a waterskin filled to the brim; evidently the soldiers anticipated a fair-sized campaign.

The cold steel of a knife was pressed to her throat. Turning her eyes slightly, she saw with a start that it was Galian, "Curse you, you ass!"she cried as she pushed his hand away.

"Language, my lady,"he said nonchalantly, settling himself against a rock, "you ought to pay better attention to your surroundings."

"I could do that better if I knew where we were,"she said dryly, handing him an apple and helping herself to one as well.

"Congratulations, Tarkheena, you've reached the foothills of the northern mountains. Just a few hours' travel, and we will be in Archenland."

The news excited her so badly she nearly choked on her food, "Well then, what are we sitting around here for? Let's go!"

He shook his head, "Not just yet. We're well hid but we're surrounded by Calormene patrols. They've been searching all night for us and I doubt they'll stop for daybreak."

"Where is the horse?"

"He's safe, in a cave not too far from here. I left him with a good bit of water and some oats the soldier had brought with him."

"These soldiers came prepared for a long journey, didn't they?"

"It seems so. I've only heard of them carrying food for the horse during long battle campaigns when they wouldn't likely be able to let them graze for long."

"Suruv and Shameth aren't keen on letting me go then,"she murmured, munching slowly on her apple.

"I think you're only part of the reason,"Galian said thoughtfully.

"What do you mean?"

"It's all just a power struggle, really. All politics. We'll turn up in Archenland, the Calormen government will accuse the Archenlanders of stealing us away or giving us subversive information and corrupting its people, or nonsense like that, and they'll eventually find grounds for attack. As long as it had existed, Calormen has wanted Narnia under its blanket of provinces. It wants to increase it's empire. We're just pawns in their game."

There was a silence between them for a moment as they finished their apples, until Aoife noted, "All the same, I'd hate to be the known as the woman who was the cause of a war."

Galian grinned"I shouldn't worry so much about that. You'll probably be known as 'the other woman who was the cause of war.'"

"What?"

"Your young man never told you the story? I assumed since you knew of the northwestern route that he had."

"No, he only told me of the road. Tell me about the story."

And Galian proceeded to tell the story of Susan of Narnia, and of how the untimely arrival of Archenland's lost prince thwarted a brutal Calormene attack. Galian was quite a good storyteller, and Aoife was throughly delighted and interested from start to finish, when the sun peeked into their little crevice.

Galian stood and stretched, "Well, I suppose I'd better check on that blinking horse. If would poke your head around that corner, easy now, and see if we still have any unwelcome guests?"

"Yes,"Aoife observed, "ten or fifteen of them, I would guess."

"That's no good. Those ten or fifteen guards stand in the way of our road home. Alright, sit tight and I'll be back in a moment."

While he was gone, Aoife periodically checked around the corner. To her disappointment, the number of guards grew larger rather than smaller.

"Where are they all coming from?"she asked herself.

"Perhaps they sprung up from the sand?"a voice behind her suggested, making her jump.

"Galian! Stop doing that!"she snapped, throughly peeved that he thought it so comical.

"I told you before,"he chuckled, "you need to be more alert. Well, we can't very well move until they leave. What shall we do until then? Another story, perhaps."

"Alright. Tell me yours."

"My story? There's not much to tell."

"I want to hear it, all the same. How is it that a Narnian boy grew up to be the most feared fighter in all of Calormen?"

"Very well. I was raised by a faun named Domus. He said he found me in a little rundown cottage a good distance into the Western Wild. He was a wonderful parent, very caring, very concerned for my well-being. He sent me to school and taught me the ways of being a Narnian and how to treat people with respect. The only problem was, I rather thought myself a free spirit. I didn't listen to a lot of what he tried to teach me, and I hated school with a passion. There were times when I would run away. Not far, really, I was never gone more than a week or so. I would always return, earn a thrashing, and be a good little boy until the next time society stifled me. One time, I ran away, came back, and Domus never tried to punish me. He was fed up, I think, with trying to discipline me. He only told me that he was finished trying to control me, and if I wanted to ruin my life it was my business. I managed to convince him that I would try harder, and for a while, a very long while, I was good. I did my schoolwork and obeyed his commands and things like that. But I wasn't happy. Finally, it really became too much, and I felt like I needed to see the country one more time. I promised myself that I would see Archenland, and that would be the end of it, I would return and do as I was told. As luck would have it, I was captured at the Winding Arrow."

"How old were you?"Aoife asked.

"Almost nine."

Aoife gasped, "And they still kidnaped you?"

"Little boys grow up to be strong men. If they survive."

"So you fought at that age?"

"No, I first worked in the fields, reaping the wheat. As I got older and stronger, my jobs got harder. Finally, someone thought it would be a good idea to use me as a sparring partner to soldiers-in-training. I remember the first time they put that stick in my hands, and put me up against the biggest man I'd ever seen until Hapeth. I knew nothing of sword fighting, the only fighting I had ever known was with my fists, and this man scared me to death. He swung his stick at me, and I blocked. He tried again, and I blocked again. He swung harder and faster, but I blocked it everytime. He finally got frustrated, grabbed the stick from me, and gave me the beating of my life. I learned my first lesson in sword fighting that day: Make my enemy come to me. Had I a real sword, his frustration would have been the end of him.

I continued to spar against the soldiers, and one thing I noticed. A certain series of blocks, an upward cut, and I would score a hit. In every military school and training camp across Calormen, they teach them the same method of fighting. If you've fought one soldier, you've fought them all. Your captain, he taught you to fight, am I correct?"

"Yes."

"And I'm sure if we had a friendly sparring game, I could hit or maybe even disarm you in three minutes."

"You're bigger than I am. And stronger."

"Strength has nothing to do with it. If it did, Hapeth would have crushed me. No, fighters like you and I must rely on our speed. When we're not in danger of being discovered, I'll show you."

"Do you think they can hear us now?"

"They might, but I doubt they could distinguish the noise we're making from the noise they're making. We're safe enough. I'd like to check, though, and see where they are."

He moved passed her silently, and poked his head around the corner. There was no one to be seen.

"All clear,"he reported.

"Really?"

"There's no one about."

"I don't like it,"Aoife told him cautiously, "if they know we're here, they might be somewhere hiding, trying to draw us out."

"You're probably right. Then again, this is a large canyon, and we could lose them easily. At any rate, we can't stay here forever."

"Don't you think they know the canyon better than us?"

"I doubt it. They don't come this far north that often, I would think. Stop worrying,"he added, noticing she still held a few reservations, "in a few hours we'll be in Anvard sipping on a well-earned drink."

"Aren't you being rather impulsive?"

"_I'm_ impulsive? Just a few moments ago you were anxious to leave."

"That was before I knew there were a good thirty soldiers looking for us."

"Have you no confidence in me?"he asked her, squaring off against her, a little peeved.

"Galian, please, for once, just listen to me..."

"Your problem is you're much too nervous. Do you want to stay here forever?"

"Of course not."

"Then we've got to take some risks. I believe we can escape, now, while we still have a chance. Trust me."

"A lot of good that's done me,"she muttered, but not lowly enough.

Galian replied angrily, "Would you prefer to go along by yourself?"

"It's fine with me,"she snapped, "I suppose you'll be fine walking to Archenland?"

He threw down the bag he had been packing in frustration, "What do you want to do, Aoife? Stay here until the end of the world? Because that's the only time we'll ever have another chance."

She looked around, cautiously, and motioned him to come closer to her. Whispering lowly, so that even he could hardly hear her, she said, "Listen, give it three more hours. Just three, that's all I'm asking. If no one shows, then we can leave. I still think they're laying low somewhere trying to bait us. Alright?"

Reluctantly, he agreed. Resentment still settled between the two of them, however, and it was an uncomfortably long and silent three hours, with many trips on Galian's part to check on the horse and much peeking around the corner on Aoife's. The sun cast a long, eerie shadow over their hiding spot, and it grew slightly colder than it had been before. Aoife huddled underneath her cloak, praying the three hours would pass speedily, for something, she didn't know what, was bound to happen after then. Galian, when he wasn't visiting the horse, sat motionless, staring at the pebbles in the sand, trying not to let his impatience get the better of him. He had thought their time together had brought them rather close, but the old quarrels still lay under the surface of this new friendship.

Finally, the three hours were over. Both peered around the corner, and still saw nothing.

"Shall I lead you to the horse so it can be saddled and we be on our way?"Galian asked her, rather smugly.

"I still have a bad feeling about this."

"No worries, Tarkheena. You said yourself that after three hours, if there was no activity, it would be safe to go, correct?"

"I never said it was safe. I honestly don't know if it's safe, and neither do you."

They quarreled the entire way to the cave where the horse was stashed, as restless as Galian had been (in fact, Aoife wondered if he had been working the horse up during the moments he had visited it), and was stamping about, tired of its hole and ready to be moving again. They soon were, though Aoife still payed close attention to every rock, shadow, and grain of sand. She wouldn't be taken by surprise again, not if she could help it. Consequently, she was the first to see dark shapes moving about to their left.

"Galian,"she whispered.

"What?"he asked, jerked out of his reverie.

"Hush. Over there. To our left."

Galian looked, but didn't see anything, "It's just the shadows. You're being incredibly jumpy, Aoife."

"No, I saw something..."

At that moment, "something" jumped from behind the rock it had been hiding under. To their horror, it was the missing thirty guards sent from Tashbaan.

With not a moment to lose, and in fact all the noise the guards were making nearly frightened the poor horse to death, Aoife pushed on as if her life depended on it, which it might have. Arrows rained down upon them, and it was only by Aoife's timely maneuvering that no one was struck. The canyon zig zagged and got narrower, so that for a moment they were out of sight of the soldiers, but were still close enough that they could hear their attempts to navigate the passage. Their horse suddenly came to a fork, one road continuing the path they had been taking, the other leading up to the plateau.

"Which one?"she asked Galian.

"Damned if I know,"he swore, forgetting his manners in the gravity of the situation.

"We'll take the high road,"she concluded, really just taking a chance. She pushed the exhausted horse up the pathway as quick as she could . In all reality, she couldn't go as fast as she would have liked, for the path was covered in loose dirty and uneven stones, and there were several times when the horse almost lost it's footing. Their route finally leveled out, so they could move faster, though the footing was no better. They were flanked by the high wall of the canyon to the left, and the tall and large but broken rock faces on their right. As the rode, they could see members of the patrol speeding off, still searching for their quarry.

"Do you think we could-could slow down a bit?"Aoife panted, slowing the animal down without confirmation from Galian.

"We're moderately safe. I haven't a clue where this leads to though."

"You haven't gone this way before?"

"No, we stuck to the main road. I'm not sure, but I _think_ the two paths intersect again. We can only hope it does, anyway."

Not reassured, Aoife nevertheless pushed the horse on, still on the lookout for any enemies, while Galian searched for a possible way down between the rocks in case the path they were taking turned out to be a dead end or else just led them higher up to the plateau.

"Galian, look!"

To their relief, the path descended sharply, and they recognized the original road. They dismounted and led the horse down carefully, and trying their hardest not to slip themselves. They finally reached the bottom, and remounted and continued on cautiously, for the guards were near, either right in front of them or right behind. As quickly as they dared, they rode fast, and Galian pointed out with relief that they canyon was getting wider, which possibly meant they were coming to an end. With that news, they joyfully topped the next hill, but their joy was halted when they saw what was in that valley.

It blended in nicely with the dull, tan color of the canyon, so that for a moment the two travelers wondered if it wasn't just their imagination. But, alas, it wasn't. It was a fortress, a straight, smoothly-walled fortress, stretching from one side of the wide canyon to the other. They could see the guards that had been pursuing them hail to a gatekeeper, and were presently admitted. It was an intimidating structure, and practically dared them to try and go around.

"What on earth is that?"Aoife asked, her voice high pitched and frightened.

"That,"replied Galian, deflated and defeated, "is our way home."


	12. Chapter 12

Thank you everyone, once again, for your warm reviews. We're heading down the home stretch.

Disclaimer: Narnia belongs to C.S. Lewis

Chapter12.

They rode back to their original hiding spot as quickly as possible, and were lucky enough to avoid any more entanglements with the soldiers. Galian was beside himself with anger, anger geared towards himself more than towards the situation. Because of him, they had nearly been killed times without number, and were running short of supplies fast. It was only a matter of time before they were caught, and he would either be sent to the slave brigade, or more likely hanged, and Aoife would be married off to the most mean-hearted and evil man in all of Calormen.

As they were eating what was left of the fruit, settled in their snug little crevice, Aoife noticed the dejection on her friend's face. She could give a very good guess as to what was going on inside his head, and, far from wanting to say "I told you so," she instead wanted more than anything to cheer him up.

"Don't worry,"she told him, in between bites, "we'll make it home alright. This is just a little setback.."

He laughed dryly, "A little setback? We're possibly three hours from Archenland, and the only thing in our way is a gigantic fortress housing close to a thousand soldiers, with more coming every day. A little setback, really..."he muttered, turning back to his berating thoughts.

"Surely there's another way around?"

"Of course there is. Tell me which you prefer, the seventy-five foot climb to the top of the plateau, followed by a hundred foot drop down a smooth rock face, or perhaps the ten mile ride to the coast, with the entire Calormen army on our tail?"

"Don't be an ass, Galian. I'm being serious."

"So am I. Trust me, the only way north is through that fortress."

Suddenly, something caught Aoife's eye, a dark figure standing out against the white sand. Twilight had just fallen, so it was difficult to make out the figure clearly, but it was a soldier beyond the shadow of a doubt. Presently, Galian noticed it too, and the two sat with their breath held as the soldier moved closer and closer to the trail that would take him to the cave, and eventually, their hiding spot.

"Shall we wait for him to find us? Then ambush him?"Galian asked.

"I doubt he'll come up here by himself once he finds the horse. He'll go back for reinforcements. No, we've got to take him now,"Aoife corrected, reaching for her bow.

"Are you sure you know how to shoot?"

"I'm a fair shot."

"Define 'fair'."

"Six out of ten?"

Galian rubbed his head, sure that he was developing a headache, but allowed Aoife to proceed with her set up. While she sounded like a fountain of confidence, Aoife had never lacked it so much in her entire life. She prayed for steady hands and a clear shot, and with one last breath, let her arrow fly. In a half second, they saw the soldier fall dead to the ground.

"Great shot,"Galian commented, the first joyful words he had said all night. The two rose to investigate the catch, and while they couldn't' make much of his face, they could see the eyes and mouth open in fear and pain.

Aoife wasn't exactly sure what happened next, one minute she was peering into the face of the dead man, the next she was leaning against the rock wall, short of breath and feeling sick to her stomach. Though this was the second man she had killed, it was the first time she had actually looked into the face of someone who had died by her hand. She cursed herself for being so weak, until Galian came and put an arm around her soldier, "It's alright,"he whispered, "I would have been more worried about you if you hadn't felt this way. It's shows that you have a heart, and a big one at that,"and he held her while she cried.

When she was done, she whispered into his shoulder, "Take him away. I don't want to look at him again."

"Alright,"he said, and tugged and pulled the dead body out of view. After a few moments, he returned to check on his friend.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine,"she reassured him quickly, and they began the walk back to their hiding spot. Presently she asked him, "He wasn't a soldier, was he?"

"He? No. Besides missing the armor, he was too short, and not as dark. He was probably an islander."

"What's he doing here?"

"Oh,"he grunted, sitting down in his usual spot in their little crevice that was beginning, for better or for worse, to feel like home, "He's probably a bounty hunter. I've heard of them being hired when the Tarkaans were looking for a fugitive."

"This time the fugitive being me."

"Of course,"he agreed lazily, settling down for a nice sleep. Aoife, on the other hand, had no intention of letting him sleep.

"How many bounty hunters do you think they've hired?"

"Oh,"he yawned again, "ten or fifteen. You being so important to Shameth and Suruv, and knowing how much money they have, they probably hired as many as they could."

She let it go for the time being, that is, she no longer asked him about it. While he drifted off into carefree slumber, she stayed awake, keeping guard and thinking. The terrified face of the man kept drifting in front of her. So this is what it's like, she thought grimly. This is what's it's like to be the fearsome warrior, the brave adventuress. This is what Galian faced each night when he fell asleep. The faces of the men he had killed, their terrified, ugly, contorted faces, as if cursing their killer even as they died. No wonder he hardly ever slept. She tried not to let her mind wander, but wander it did. What sort of man was the bounty hunter? Was he married? Did he have children? A family that would probably never see him again?

She fell asleep, and his face haunted her still. It loomed in and out of the dark, alternately screaming and cursing. She noticed every detail, the lines on his face, the dark irises of his eyes, the dingy color of his teeth, everything. There he was; the bounty hunter. That bounty hunter. Always there.

Wait a second.

She bolted upright, snapped immediately out of her sleep. That was it! Of course!

She darted to her sleeping partner, "Galian! Galian! Wake up! Oh, wake up you fool. I've got it!"

"What th-what on earth are you shouting about? Do you want to attract every damned bounty hunter and soldier?"

"I've figured out how we can get past the fortress!"she exclaimed, so happy with herself she was nearing dancing.

Galian was, however, by no means as thrilled. He was having a wonderfully deep sleep, something that didn't come that often to him, and he was none to pleased to be so rudely awoken. He finally grumbled, "Alright, let's hear it,"in the grouchiest of voices, figuring that if he had to stay awake, he intended on being as irritable as he possibly could.

"It's simple. You pretend to be a bounty hunter."

He stared at her, certain he had heard her wrong, "What?"

"You heard me. What if you took me to the fortress and told them you were a bounty hunter? It would be a perfect way to get inside without raising too much suspicion."

"You're mad. You're mad, or possessed, or something. You're suggesting we walk right into the fortress? Just walk right in?"

"Like you said, the only way to go is north. I know it sounds foolish, but listen for a moment. They're not looking for you. You'll be able to scout the fortress with less than the usual suspicion, and you can find a way out. Surely there's a postern gate or a time when soldiers are being relieved, that we can sneak out. Meanwhile, I'll be in captivity, so security will be more lackadaisical. They might even start sending the extra garrison back to Tashbaan."

"I doubt it,"Galian muttered, rubbing his head, "Entire companies can't leave in a day. Besides, suppose they put you in prison? How am I supposed to get you out?"

"Do what you usually do: come in swinging."

"I can kill seven or eight guards, Aoife, not a thousand."

"You won't have to fight a thousand. Just six or seven. The others won't notice us because we'll be dressed up as soldiers."

"What?"he nearly shouted in a high pitched voice.

"It's perfect. We'll blend in."

"It's not prefect, it's the most foolhardy and reckless plan I've ever heard. And I absolutely refuse to go on with it."

"Galian, please, trust me. Aren't you the one who always risked it all? The one who went for all or nothing? Aren't you?"

"Usually I am. It seems the roles have been reversed,"he replied sardonically.

"Galian, if you've never trusted me before on this journey, trust me now. Please?"

He sighed, "Not fair. Not fair at all."

Her face lit up with hope, "Then we'll do it?"

He stood reluctantly, and nodded. After all, he thought, all or nothing.

Morning found them striding down the path that led to the fortress, the reins situated so that it looked like Galian was steering but in fact it was Aoife who was directing the horse, a very complicated procedure to say the least. They had done their best to make the entire ordeal look like there had been a struggle, even to the scratches on Galian's face so that it appeared she had tried her hardest to fight him off. He, on the other had, had absolutely refused to do any physical damage to her, and while they had a big row about this, Galian held his ground, and Aoife had to settle for looking as dirty andbed ragged as she possibly could, so much so that she was almost not recognizable. Galian, on the other hand, looked nothing like the man he did when he left Tashbaan; he had considerably dark stubble around his face, and his hair had grown out a bit, not to mention the clothes he had borrowed from the dead bounty hunter made him look (and no doubt feel) much grander than he really was.

They were hailed a good mile before they even reached the gate, and told to stand still until a squad reached them with a stern Tarkaan at it's head.

"Who are you and what in Tash's name do you have there?"he asked harshly, obviously not a patient man.

"My name is Aneirin,"Galian told him, in his best islander accent (they talk slower than Narnians, and their vowels are more drawn out), "I have brought you the young woman everyone's been looking for,"for the effect, he sharply yanked Aoife's hair, so that her head, which had been hung as if in shame, would be shown to the group.

The captain narrowed his eyes, and said, "We'll take her to the Tarkaan. He'll know if she's genuine or not. If you're another one of these accursed bounty hunters bringing in some strange woman you acquired from some ungodly whorehouse, so help me I'll cut your ears off and hang them from my saddle." (A/N: line taken from the movie _Purgatory_, a very good movie, I highly recommend it).

Surrounded by the guardsmen, Aoife and Galian were led inside the haunting fortress they had dreaded for so long. The sight of soldiers walking, chatting, mending, eating, and doing whatnot in every direction unnerved the two of them greatly. It was a short ride to the keep, and Aoife was jerked down roughly off of the horse, followed closely by Galian, who was determined not to let her out of his sight before he absolutely had to. The massive doors were thrown open, and they were led up several stairs and through several rooms before they were finally brought before one of two men they had wanted to see least in the world and knew they were most likely to see. Sitting behind a desk, vain as ever, was Shameth.

With a smirk Aoife would have been glad to knock clean off his face, he strutted across the room, and grabbed Aoife roughly by the jaw.

His evil smile grew larger, "Oh, it's her alright. You men can go,"he nodded to the soldiers, who proceeded quickly out of the door, while their captain remained. Shameth tightened his grip on Aoife, looking at Galian, "Did she suffer? Did you hurt her badly? She should have had the life beat out of her, little whore that she is!"and he savagely threw her to the ground. It took all of Galian's self control not to attack him.

Shameth walked back to his desk, pouring himself a glass of wine, not thinking to offer his guest any. After taking a few sips, ones that wouldn't likely help his temperament any, he turned to Galian, "Well, done, my young friend. I don't believe I caught your name."

"My name? Oh, Aneirin. From Terebinthia,"Galian said slowly, well aware he was losing his fake accent.

"I see. What town?"

"I lived all over."

"I see,"Shameth said again, then moved on, "Where is her companion?"

"Her companion?"

"Yes, my scouts told me there was someone else riding with her. Where is he?"

"I killed him."

"You killed him? Why? Who was he?"

The more lies Galian told, the more he knew he would get himself caught in them. Nevertheless, he spoke on, "I knew not his name, only that he was another mercenary from Terebinthia as well. He was getting away with my prize, so I killed him."

"Competitive fellow, aren't you?"Shameth said slyly.

"You would be too if you had lost your last three assignments to him."

Shameth laughed, "I suppose so. Now, about payment..."

"I want three hundred crescents."

The joke was over for Shameth now. If there was anything he hated, it was parting with his money, "The price agreed upon was one hundred-fifty,"he said sharply.

"Yes, well, I had to take extra precautions,"Galian pushed, in his most business like and toughest voice.

"Like what?"

"For example, like killing the other mercenary. And making sure your own men didn't mistake me for the quarry and kill me on sight. Not to mention the fight this girl put up..."

"You can't handle one petite girl?"

"I don't suppose you could either, or else you wouldn't have lost her in the first place..."

Aoife grimaced as she lay on the floor. Making Shameth mad wouldn't lead to anything beneficial. By the look on his face, he probably was about to order that Galian's head be cut off.

The order never came though. The fury was evident, but Galian's death warrant wasn't signed yet, "Two hundred. That's my final offer, and I suggest you take it, or my captain's sword falls."

Galian stared down Shameth, something he was good at doing, and for a moment considered opposing the deal and killing Shameth and the captain on the spot. But, of course, that would have caused more trouble than they wanted at the moment, and in the end Galian agreed, on the condition that he would be allowed to see Aoife safely to the dungeons. Far from suspecting any foul play, Shameth allowed him to follow and he and three guards took her to where she was to be kept. It wasn't a dungeon, as Aoife and Galian had been expecting, but a very secluded room, in a tower on the westernmost side of the fortress, a room without windows and smelling strongly of feces and rotted hay.

She was locked in, and two sentries were placed outside her door. They proceeded back down the winding staircase, passing door after door, doors, Galian was told, that led to additional sleep quarters for the soldiers. They final reached the main door, and a sentry was placed inside the door, and two more were placed on the outside. Evidently, Shameth had no intentions of letting his future bride escape again. As for Galian, he was taken back to Shameth's office, given his two hundred crescents, and told he was to leave in no less than three days. In the meantime, he was expected to entertain himself.

Entertain himself seemed a joke, he thought, as he left the keep. He really wasn't altogether sure where he was going, he just seemed to be wandering about, looking for a clue or a helping hand or anything that would be beneficial.

Aslan, he thought, show me how to get out of here.

Something caught his eye. One of the soldiers had stopped dead in his tracks, and was looking Galian keenly in the face. Feeling enormously uncomfortable, he resumed his course, but the figure followed him. He was pushed into an alleyway, and found himself looking into the face of none other than the honorable Captain of the Guards, Pericles himself.


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: Well, you know...I suppose I have to say it still. NARNIA IS NOT MINE, ALRIGHT! There, I said it...

Once again, a heartfelt thanks extended to all my wonderful reviewers. Thanks for sticking with me this long.

This chapter is dedicated to my Navy-bound, bottle-rocket shooting buddy. I'll miss you, Pete.

Chapter 13.

At once, Pericles grabbed Galian by the collar, and threw him roughly into an alleyway. Soldiers passing by merely looked on with curiosity but said nothing; apparently it wasn't uncommon for certain soldiers to attack one another. At once, Pericles's knife flew out, and found itself pressed firmly to Galian's throat.

"I told you to keep an eye on her,"he growled, "You gave me your word. I trusted you, you filthy, lying little traitor!"

"No need for name calling, Captain,"Galian calmly retorted, "this is all part of a semi-well constructed plan."

"Well-well constructed plan?"Pericles spat. His mercy had reached it's breaking point, "I should kill you here and now. No one would bat an eye. Why shouldn't I?"he asked, as if daring Galian to give an answer.

And an answer he gave. Faster than thought, Pericles felt something sharp pressed uncomfortably to his belly, "Because it would be the last thing you'd ever do."

They stared each other down, but of course Galian could be an incredibly intimidating man when he wanted to be, and weapons were respectfully removed. Galian looked around, aware they were beginning to draw a crowd, "Is there anywhere we can talk?"

Reluctantly, Pericles led him out of the alleyway, amongst stares and whispers, though they were silenced at a glance from their none-too-happy Captain. The walk to his chambers was a short one, and in no time Galian found himself looking into a sparsely decorated but altogether cozy apartment. Far from being the genial host, as soon as the large door was shut, Pericles snapped, "Alright. You'd best have a damned good story, or so help me..."

"Calm down, Captain. It is a damned good story actually,"and for the next half hour he described the events that had taken place over the past few days, concluding with Aoife's plan, and stressing that he had not wanted to take part in the matter at all.

"You were supposed to go northwest,"was all Pericles said, though it was in a low, threatening sneer.

"We thought it would be quicker to go north."

"Do you think I'm a fool, Galian? Don't you think I've known about the thieves and this fortress all along? That's exactly why I told Aoife to go northwest, where there are no fortresses, no thieves, and no bounty hunters. But of course you had to be the hero, didn't you? Had to do things your way or else not do them at all. Am I right?"

"I've never been accused of being the smartest man,"Galian said simply, "I merely went with my instinct and with what I thought was right. And if I may say so, I've carried out my duties to the letter. No harm has come to Aoife."

"None, except now she's in the most heavily guarded tower in all of Calormen, with minimal time for us to find a way to get her out. I've just received my orders from Shameth. Our entire company, Aoife included, is to leave tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Galian nearly shouted, fearfully.

"Yes. Why would Shameth need to stay? He has what he wants," Pericles said, sinking into a chair by a small table.

"Listen, we need your help. I can get her out of that tower, if you can just tell me how to get out of the fortress. We haven't a moment to lose. Is there a postern gate or a secret way out?"

"The postern is located in the master bedroom, which is currently occupied by our dear Shameth Tarkaan. That would be the only way out, besides the north and south gates."

Galian sighed reservedly, peering out the lone window into the courtyard, where hundreds of soldiers were going about their daily business.

"What time does Shameth usually retire?"

Pericles gave him a hard look from his seat, "Surely you're not suggesting..."

"What time, Captain?"

"Midnight, lately. He'll be celebrating tonight, so he'll go to sleep later, I would think. But I sincerely hope you're not suggesting you go through his room?"

"Do you know of another way out?"

Pericles nervously rose from his chair, and began pacing the room. He felt like he was going to be sick, "No, but what you're suggesting is insane. You're practically walking into the hangman's noose, and taking Aoife along with you!"he added this last sentiment in a burst of anger.

"Captain, you and I both know how heavily guarded the perimeter is going to be tonight. No one will be going in or out by the gates. Unless we suddenly sprout wings and fly away, the safest way for Aoife and I is through Shameth's room."

"Do you have any idea how many guards you'll meet before you even reach the keep?"

"I've faced worse odds before,"Galian replied, which might not have been entirely true, "Captain, I don't like this any more than you do. If you know of a better way, I'd be more than glad to hear of it."

And of course Pericles didn't know of any other options, "Leave it to you to find the most dangerous way out. Listen to me,"he said, more seriously, "take the servants' entrance, on the east side of the manor. From there, you'll walk up three flights of stairs. You'll know the door to the master bedroom when you see it by the crimson tapestry to the right of it."

"How many guards keep watch up there?"

"Three. Shameth appreciates privacy more than anything. I don't doubt you'll be able to dispose of them. Now, how are you going to get Aoife out of the tower?"

Galian looked around, "Do you have a spare uniform?"

A few minutes later, Galian was donning a soldier's outfit, looking absolutely ridiculous in the daylight. However, he hypothesized, if it were dark, and if his face didn't give him away too quickly, it might work just long enough.

Pericles didn't ask anything further, feeling he probably didn't want to know what Galian had in mind, and more than sure he already did know. There was nothing to do now but wait for nightfall.

Pericles left for a few hours to attend to his duties, while Galian hid quietly in his room, eating a bit but mostly pacing with nervousness and excitement, and wishing dark would come sooner. It was dusk when the Captain returned again, regarding Galian as an annoying, unwanted houseguest.

"Still here, then?"he asked, reminding Galian of his days as a slave, when the Captain would walk into the cell and ask that very question.

He was jerked out of his memories by another statement from Pericles, "I'm going with you tonight. I might be able to talk you out of a scrape should one arise. I can pass you two off as new servants being shown around. And I want to see Aoife again."

Galian shifted uncomfortably. He had known Pericles would ask him this, and he already had an answer, "I don't think it's a very good idea, Captain."

"And why not?"

"For a lesser argument, you'd be in serious trouble when we turned up missing, as you'd be the last one seen with us. They might even link you to the killing of some of the soldiers, and you'd hang before noon. But for the most part, I don't want you to go because I think you'd be more of a distraction than any help."

"And just what do you mean by that?"Pericles asked dangerously.

"I mean that Aoife will be more focused on you than on escaping, and you'll be more focused on her than on getting us out of here quickly and quietly. She needs to keep her mind clear tonight. I'm really very sorry, Captain."

Pericles wanted to get angry, but for once he was absolutely sure that Galian was making sense, "Then will you tell her I was here? When it's all over, I mean. Tell her I helped you? It's important to me, Galian,"he added when he saw Galian looking doubtful.

"Alright. When we reach Archenland, I'll tell her you were here."

"Give me your word."

"I give it to you. I'll tell her."

Two men stood lazily outside the door that led inside the westernmost tower, "Why all this security?"one complained to another, "As if Imam can't handle one small woman by himself."

"It wouldn't hurt you to do something other than drink, you know,"his companion scolded.

"Watch yourself. I've been keeping watch over the gates all week while you've gotten to romp around outside."

"I was looking for the girl."

"So you say. More than likely you crawled into some cave and had yourself a little nap, like last time."

"Take that back or so help me I'll..."

"What's all this about?"they heard a stern voice ask from the shadows. The two guards immediately stood at attention.

"I could hear you two all the way across the compound. If you can't behave like men perhaps you ought to be shown the kitchens with all the other..."

"Wait a moment,"one of the soldiers said, for at that moment he discovered the man he mistook to be his Captain was not a officer at all. Before he could alert his companion, both felt the burning pain of a sword, and were dead before they hit the ground. Galian surveyed his work before tapping on the door, "Yes?" a gruff voice asked after opening the door a crack, only to receive the same fate as his comrades.

It was quite a job hiding all three bodies in the nearest closet, but in the end Galian managed it. The climb up the winding staircase was uneventful, save for an encounter with a man so blinding drunk Galian felt he wasn't worth the effort, and left him to pass out on the stairs before continuing on his merry little way.

The remaining two watchmen were silenced quickly enough, and after a fumbling search, Galian found a small set of keys that, after three tries, opened the door to Aoife's room.

She was nowhere to be seen. For one horrifying moment, he imagined he was in the wrong tower, or that she had been moved, or that something far worse had happened to her. Suddenly, a dark figure leapt from behind the door, and before he could react something hard collided with his head with more force than he knew ever existed. Through the throbbing pain and the ringing in his ears, he heard a feminine voice cursing, "You miserable, foul little..."

"Aoife! It's me, you fool!"he cried, though his own voice was a little faint.

"Galian! I'm sorry, I thought you were one of them,"and with a little struggle she helped him to the bed and brought a cold washcloth for his head.

"So you've had a little trouble with the guards, then?"he asked, trying to take his mind off the throbbing in his head.

"Yes. Apparently Shameth gave them permission to box me around a little."

His head had stopped spinning enough that he could focus on the large bruise that darkened her jaw and other slight signs of violence.

"I'll kill them,"he said promptly.

"No fear. I held them off well enough the past hour or so. Where on earth have you been, by the way?"

"On earth, in fact, until you knocked me clean out of it. What is that, anyway?"he asked, nodding at the weapon that lay unceremoniously on the floor.

"Some statue of one of the Tisrocs. Now answer my question."

It didn't take him long to lay the plan before her. She reacted much the same way as Pericles did.

"Are you mad?"

"It seems to be a popular opinion."

"This is no time to joke around. You want to go through Shameth's room?"

"Listen, half of the guards will be on patrol at the gates, the other half will be a little on the tipsy side, and Shameth himself will be celebrating. If we dress up as soldiers, and sneak in through the servants' entrance, we shouldn't have a problem."

"As easy as that, eh?"

"Just put those on,"he snapped, pointing to the equipment he had taken off of one of the guards downstairs, which he had dropped in all the confusion. Aoife stepped into the washroom to change while Galian chanced standing, and after the room swirled about a little, he concluded he was well enough to walk. By that time, Aoife was dressed, looking even more foolish than Galian had, and was throwing her old clothes into the fire at the far side of the room. She turned to him with a concerned look on her face and asked, "Look here, how did you find out about all that? About the servants' entrance and where the guards would be posted?"

"I kept a close watch,"he shrugged, hoping that was the end of it. Aoife wouldn't let it go, however, "You had help, didn't you. Who was it?"

"An old friend of mine. A very nice soldier I knew at your father's palace. He was transferred here."

"I see,"said she, though he wasn't sure she believed him. No matter, Galian thought to himself. She would find out the truth in Archenland.

The dead guards were dragged into the room, and Galian and Aoife began their descent. They were midway down when misfortune struck. Just as they rounded the corner, they came upon the soldier Galian had earlier passed, though this time he wasn't alone. Two others stood, preparing to help their comrade into the bunk room where he could sleep off the effects too much ale had left him with. They instantly spotted Galian and more importantly, they recognized Aoife.

"She's escaped, she's escaped! To arms!"one called before meeting his fate at the end of Galian's sword. Just as Aoife had finished with the other, more poured from the room nearest to them, and more from above. Galian did his best to subdue them, but for every one he killed, three more seemed to replace him. He and Aoife literally had their backs to the wall as they fought. In no time, it seemed that a good twenty soldiers surrounded them. Willing to try anything to hold them off for any amount of time possible, Galian pulled Aoife into one of the bunk rooms and locked the door, only to turn and find himself face to face with three of the biggest men he had ever seen in addition to ten ordinary sized men. One of the big men, apparently none too worried about Galian's skill with the blade, grabbed him in a bear hug and practically threw him across the room into a wall. Dazed and confused, Galian had just regained focus before a chair hit him full in the face, thrown by the same man. Aoife, meanwhile, was having a time holding off the other two big men. Luckily for her, she was so small and lithe that she could slip from their grasp with effortless ease. On the other hand, nothing she did seemed to faze them; they reacted to a cut from her sword they way an ordinary man might react to a bee sting. Her sword was wrenched from her, and she was thrown into Galian. Three large men and ten other soldiers, the latter of which felt no inclination to do anything other than watch the other three and laugh, surrounded them. Galian looked round. Behind them was one of the only windows the tower had to offer. It was a good forty feet to the ground.

Aoife followed his gaze, "Oh no,"was all she could say.

Grabbing her by the arm, he set off at full speed and crashed through the window. The glass cut into them terribly, and the ground came faster than they would have liked. Aoife landed with a sickening crunch on her right side. The impact winded her quite a bit, as well as jarred her head about a little. She tried to sit up, but the pain in her arm was so fierce she could do nothing but cry out.

"Aoife?"Galian asked, though his voice seemed to be pain-ridden as well.

"I think my arm is broken."

She saw Galian stand, holding his sides and hobbling something terrible. That would slow them down considerably, Aoife thought.

"Are you alright?"she asked him, standing, holding her arm close to her.

"Well enough. We can't linger,"he said, and limped away as fast as he could, which wasn't saying much. They went about slowly, keeping to the dark places and praying they wouldn't have any more unpleasant encounters. Every now and then they would have to keep still, for patrols darted here and there in a mad fury, knowing their lives would be forfeit should Shameth discover that his bride was gone.

"If he learns that I'm missing, do you think he'll be smart enough to return to his room and guard the postern?"Aoife whispered to Galian at one point.

"He probably won't keep watch himself,"Galian breathed, "but he might station someone else there. All the better if he is though. There are few men I've wanted to kill so much as he,"and he said it with such fierceness in his voice that Aoife was quite frightened, and yet a little in awe as well.

The servants' entrance was deserted. It was really nothing more than a large hole in the wall, and once through it, Galian and Aoife discovered the kitchen, which was surprisingly spotless for a kitchen of those times. The stairs were at the far end, lit sparsely by small candles. It was a torturous climb for them; both were absolutely exhausted and Galian's leg still seared with pain. It took them longer than their nerves could stand, and every now and then they would stop to hear a troop pass by or to catch their breath, but in the end, they managed to reach the top.

The entire third floor was so richly decorated that even Aoife, who had seen many palaces of rich Tarkaans, was amazed. It was mostly hung with red, and handsome oak tables played host to a wide array of exotic flowers or crystal vases. Parts of the wall that were not hung with red boasted proud portraits of the several founding fathers of the fortress, each man with a proud and greedy look upon their face.

The master bedroom, the one with the purple tapestry that clashed horribly with the red of the room, was in the center of the far wall. Trying to step lightly, though Galian's leg gave them away, they crossed the room with extreme agitation. Before they entered, Galian drew his sword, though even then he wasn't sure he could wield it efficiently. As for Aoife's, she had lost hers in the fall, and surely could not have used it even if she had one.

Galian opened the door slowly. Through the crack, he could see a well lit room, with dark crimson tapestries complimenting the light brown, rock walls very nicely. A large bed that looked as if you could sink into it jutted forth from the far wall, and was fitted with silk sheets. Decorations much like the ones in the hallway were seen all about the room.

He would have noticed more, but really all Galian needed to know was what sort of occupant the room might hold. At first glance, there seemed to be no one. Galian knew he should be more attentive, but the pain in his leg was overbearing, and the broken ribs he was sure he sustained were making it difficult to breathe. So it was no wonder, as they blundered across the room, that they were startled by the tall form of Shameth.

"I might have known,"he said evilly as Galian turned quickly, too quickly, for just as he brought his sword up he fell to the ground, crying out in pain, having wrenched his leg horribly.

"I might have known,"Shameth said again, "that you two were in league. In only proves to me she is as much of a whore as I had thought her to be,"he snarled, stepping over Galian to get to her. Galian tried to ignore the pain as he stood, but the leg seemed physically unable to support him, and he sank to the ground.

Shameth grabbed Aoife roughly, "You've got a lot to learn, _my_ lady. First of all,"he slapped her across the cheek, "never disobey me. Second,"and he hit her again, "learn that you will never, _ever_ be able to escape from me. Wherever you go, I will find you, and when I do, you'll wish you'd never crossed me,"and after one final hit, he spat, "like tonight."

He grabbed her arm, the one he had seen her coddle, the one that was broken. She uttered a scream that pierced Galian's heart, and with one final effort that took all his strength, he hoisted himself up and started towards Shameth as quickly as he could, sword drawn. Before he reached them, however, Aoife reacted. With her free and good arm, she drew the knife from Shameth's belt, and with fury never seen in such a beautiful woman, plunged it into Shameth's neck.

For a moment, all she could see was blood and all she could feel, besides her broken arm, was cold. Finally, she sat up, holding her arm once again, and cried harder than she had before, whether out of pain or rage, Galian wasn't sure. Mustering all his strength, he crawled to her, and comforted her as best he could.

"How do you do it?"she sobbed, "how do you go on killing men like you do and not bat an eye?"

Galian was a little hurt by the question, but let it go for the moment, "It's not as easy as that,"he said softly, holding her and wincing as she pressed against his side.

She stopped crying abruptly, perhaps realizing the danger of staying too long, "We'd probably get moving,"she told her friend, standing up and doing her best to wipe away the tears from her eyes. She looked down at her clothes, which were a mess of dirt and blood, thought there seemed to be more of the latter, "Do you think,"she asked shyly, "that maybe we could change? I mean, I don't think it would do well to walk into Archenland in...wearing clothes like these."

Galian glanced about the room, "Shameth's are much too big for you. I suppose we could make do, though,"and the next several minutes was devoted to finding the smallest shirt and bottoms they could, which were still humongous on her. The shirt was shortened when Galian had the bright idea of tearing off a strip from the bottom and using it to sling Aoife's arm, which, after a small test, she claimed felt much better. He changed as well, and after finding a small, broken spear that would serve him well as a cane, the two were ready to start.

The tunnel on the other side of the postern door was dark, and they were delayed a bit longer until a lantern could be found. Then they were finally able to begin their descent, always taking care not to knock their heads on the low rock ceiling. They allowed themselves to walk down the enormous steps at their leisure, assured that no guard would even guess that they might have been foolish enough to take this way out. There were frequent rests, which mostly consisted of rubbing sore arms, legs, ribs, or heads, before they would rise and continue on their quest. Aoife began to wish she had brought water or anything of that sort; her mouth and throat were horribly dry. She was bitterly tired, and sore, and wanted more than anything to just lie down. Just as she was about to make the suggestion to Galian, who was stumbling and reeling behind her, the lantern she held illuminated the most beautiful sight either of them had ever seen.

The mouth of the tunnel widened. The ground began to level out, though it was still a bit rocky, if you take my meaning. Not three yards from where the tunnel ended was what appeared to be the large opening to the cave. Hobbling to it as fast as they could, they could see large, dark mountains illuminated against the blue sky.

"Is that...?"Aoife began.

"That, my dear,"Galian exclaimed, unable to keep the joy out of his voice, "is Archenland."

They momentarily forgot their bruises and pains, their weariness and nearly broken spirit. They were too busy dancing and laughing to their heart's content in celebration. They were so close. A few minutes' walk, and they would be home. But not tonight. They were so weary they could not have chanced another step. Within minutes, their joyful energy expired, and they concluded that they would chance a few hours' sleep, and would finish their journey in the morning.

Galian, however, did not fall asleep right away. He was thinking about the question Aoife had asked him earlier, about being able to kill men with emotionless ease. As if a mental answer to that question, the faces of the men he had killed that day floated into his mind, their faces contorted in pain or fear, holding desperately onto those last few minutes of life that were slipping away. It was his punishment, he supposed. He was able to store away all those faces until nighttime, when they haunted him, and refused to let him sleep. No, he was not the efficient killing machine everyone thought him to be. Were he given the chance, he would vow not to kill another man then and there. But practicality blocked his oath. His duty was to protect Aoife, even if it meant sacrificing his own conscience, or another man.

He glanced at her as she slept fitfully. Her arm was terribly misshapen, and perhaps she would never be able to wield a weapon again, but it was probably all the better for her. She was nearly as filthy as he, and her hair grew in shaggy layers. Suddenly, it occurred to him that she had never looked more beautiful.

And the feeling hit him like a ton of bricks. He was in love with Aoife.


	14. Chapter 14

Alright ya'll, we're close now...Thanks to my reviewers, you guys are awesome! I take each and every one of your responses to heart, and I'll address them all individually at another time.

This chapter is dedicated to God's newest angel, the sweetest old woman I've ever known, who ended her battle with cancer on July 17.

Disclaimer: Narnia isn't mine...

Chapter 14

Both slept fitfully that night. Each had dreams of Calormene soldiers emerging from the tunnel and slaughtering them while they slept. In fact, the nightmares haunted Galian so terribly that he was unable to sleep for the rest of the night, and contented himself with sitting and staring at the entrance to the tunnel, grimacing in pain every now and then, and trying his best not to look at Aoife as she too slept uneasily.

For his nightmares did not consist of murderous soldiers alone. She was there, always, her beautiful, lithe figure silhouetted against all the other evils of his sleep, calming him like no other person had been able to since he was a small boy. Then, in his dream that is, she would be slain, and his world would come crashing down. Each time, as he awoke from his terrible nightmare, he vowed she would never meet such a fate.

It was with these thoughts that he greeted the morning sun. He wasn't able to see it as it rose, as the mouth of the cave looked directly north. Galian rose and hobbled to the entrance, in an effort to scout out the terrain and plan their next move. Before he could reach his destination, he saw Aoife sit up as painfully as he had, and he wondered if his limping, which sounded horribly loud, had woken her.

"Good morning,"she said to him, stretching and rubbing her sore arm.

"I hope so,"he replied, still wary of anything that might go wrong.

"What's our course? Due north?"Aoife asked, joining him at the entrance. He shivered despite the warmth of the air, wishing she wouldn't stand so close to him.

Luckily for he, he was able to hide his emotions well, "Nearly. If we just follow this gorge, we'll come to the river in an hour or two."

"I've heard that before,"Aoife joked, lightly slapping Galian on the arm. He gave her a slight grin, then slowly sat where he was.

"How does your leg feel?"she asked him presently.

"It's terribly stiff,"he remarked, "and a little sore. It will be slow going for me today. And your arm?"

"I can hardly move it. Let's hope you have some friends that live close to the border, Galian. I doubt either one of us could last another day with wounds like these."

And so, with more determination than hope, they set out on their way. They canyon had changed from the desert dust to hard rock, and it was hard going for their already sore feet. Also, it was an oppressively hot day, and though the sun's rays did not burn them directly, it created a stifling heat in the canyon, where no wind would reach, and they both quickly agreed they preferred the open spaces of the desert to this enclosed atmosphere. They also realized how hungry and thirsty they were. Neither had eaten since the night before, when Galian had supped with Pericles and Aoife had been brought a far less satisfying meal in her room. They soon felt the pangs of hunger, but of course there was nothing to do but press on, which they did slowly, as their wounds still burned acidly with each step they took.

And for the next hour or so it was the same; the same dull, brown, rocky landscape, the same heat, same pain, and the same hunger. They wanted so badly to stop, but knew they couldn't. At last, there was a glorious moment when everything turned from brown to green, and their path was littered with small stones and pebbles instead of abrasive rocks. They turned a bend, and suddenly a most delicious noise met their ears: the sound of running water.

There was no mistaking it now. They finally stood on this side of the Winding Arrow, a noisy, hustling river. Although it couldn't be more than three feet deep where they stood now, they both knew that as weak as they were, and owing to the condition of Galian's leg, they wouldn't have a chance of crossing it in that current. However, as she looked upstream, or westward if you like, Aoife noticed a solid looking bridge of oak. She pointed it out with glee to Galian, who regarded it with a mixture of thankfulness and disgust.

"The slavers built it, of course,"he said as they neared it, "it's easier than trying to force a man or horse across the river. I doubt the higher-ups in Archenland know anything of this."

They were across the bridge faster than you could imagine, faster than they themselves thought they could walk. Finally, Aoife's feet, for the first time in her life, hit the mossy plushness of the Archenland ground, and, despite all her injuries and weariness, she wanted to jump for joy and dance in celebration. In fact, that is almost what Galian did. The moment his feet hit the Archenland soil, he set off at a run, which of course his leg protested against, and he sank to the ground after limping a good ten feet, though he hardly paid any mind to the pain. It didn't matter now, for all the tears he had cried and all the blood he had shed were well worth being able to set foot in the beautiful northern earth once again. Aoife rushed to help him, thinking he was hurt, and was surprised to see him laughing like a man gone mad, and she saw that the bitterness and weariness that showed in the faces of all slaves was now absent from her friend's, replaced with the carefree and adventurous face of the young boy he must have once been.

"We're home!"he cried in sheer joy, "We made it!"

He jumped up quicker than a man with a lame leg ever had and immediately enveloped Aoife in a tight hug, forgetting about her arm until she winced. But at that moment, neither seemed too worried about their injuries. After all, they had made it to Archenland.

Whether it was a minute or an hour later, they finally continued on their way, though with considerably less caution and fear than they had started out with. The mountains still rose around them, though in a much more attractive way, if you take my meaning. While they were so ugly and oppressive in the desert, now they were clad with more trees than Aoife ever knew could grow in one place, and gave one an daring and bold feeling rather than a foreboding one.

They walked until Galian felt he could walk no more. He sunk against a tree, weary but still ecstatic. He had waited for this moment for eleven years and all the pain he had endured made this homecoming that much more golden. He sat in this dreamy state of elation while Aoife looked about their little campsite, and in no time found an apple tree, and they made a good lunch. Afterwards, though they both knew that at least one of them should keep awake, they both were fast asleep in a few minutes.

It was late in the afternoon when Galian awoke. They shadows had grown longer and the trees looked beautiful in the golden sunshine. However, Galian could not shake the feeling that something was wrong. It was quiet save for the sound of a sparrow or two and the rustle of the leaves in the wind. For one panicked moment, he could not find Aoife, and after he called once or twice she irritably poked her head from behind a tree about nine feet away. He felt a little bothered by the fact that she saw it necessary to distance herself from him while they slept, but shook off the feeling as foolishness, and turned his attention back to his uneasy feeling. Recognizing his mood, Aoife fell silent, waiting for further instruction.

A sound began to erupt over the ridges. At first it reminded them of thunder, then of a stampede. Actually, the latter was more correct. Seemingly out of nowhere, a small herd of horsemen sprang from behind one of the far ridges. Galian was too wary against strangers to trust that they were friends and not enemies. Pulling Aoife along, he jumped behind a large growth of hawthorn bushes, peeking every now and then to see how close the group was and who they were.

The noise of the horses was deafening by the time they topped the nearest ridge, and to Galian's horror, they were slowing down. They stopped at a small pool of water about thirty feet from where Galian and Aoife hid, and to confirm his suspicious, they were slavers.

"Had a good haul this go around,"one belched loudly, "look at 'im, he'll fetch two hundred crescents or I'm a goldfish."

"Not so loud, you fool!" one soft voice rebuked harshly, "we're still in Archenland."

"But, sir, you said no one lived in these parts."

"And no one does, thanks to the rumors of bandits living in the mountains. Still, there might be some idiotic fool without any sense who might have gotten lost down here."

"Sir, may I ask why..."

"No you may not. Now, get on with you, and see to it that everyone's blindfold is still secure and their hands are still bound. If one escapes and runs back to tell the Queen, our lives may as well be over."

The two previous voices must have gone to carry out their duties, for after this nothing was to be heard but murmurs and sharp commands. Aoife, hardly daring to breathe, looked to Galian to learn what his next course of action would be. If she had hoped they would remain fine, and wait until the slavers had moved on, she had never been more wrong in her entire life. One look at Galian's face, and she knew what he meant to do.

"Galian, don't..."

"I have to. I can't just let them take those poor chaps away."

"Galian, you're outnumbered, and wounded besides!"

"I can't let them go, not in good conscience. Not after the life I've lived, knowing that they might live a life similar if not worse."

She knew he wouldn't be deterred, not by any amount of arguing or pleading she had to offer. He drew his sword, and readied himself, his leg already shaking and threatening to give out. Giving a great shout, he leapt from behind the bushes and began his attack.

Either Aslan was on his side, or else Galian had been blessed, for the moment anyway, with a ridiculous amount of good fortune. The slavers were ill-prepared, and were more used to beating on defenseless victims than they were at facing real warriors. The nearest three fell victim to Galian, and while there was a moment of mad confusion Galian cut the bonds of four captives before he was forced to defend himself once again. This time, of course, he had help. In no time, all the prisoners were freed and had overtaken their captors. Even Aoife had helped, as wounded as she was, brandishing a large stick as a club. In less than fifteen minutes, thirteen slavers lay dead, and two more were escaping into the forest.

For a moment, Galian was surrounded by several men and women, all wanting to extend their heartfelt thanks. Finally, his leg would hold him no longer, and he pitched forward and fell into someone's arms. There was a moment of mass confusion as everyone tried to help him at once, so that for a few minutes he was horribly jostled around. In the end, Aoife and another fellow managed to control the crowd, allowing Galian a few minutes of breathing space. While he rested, Aoife began to tell a quick version of their journey, ending with Galian's most recent resolution to free the captives. Once again, the air rang with appreciative voices, until they were calmed down by the man who had helped Aoife quiet before. He was obviously someone important, for everyone hushed immediately.

"I think I speak for everyone when I tell you how eternally indebted we are to you, young man,"the man spoke, with a rich dialect only belonging to someone of the nobility, "I am Lord Faolan."

There was a gasp from the crowd, signaling to Aoife and Galian that he was obviously an important man. They tried to act appropriately reverent, but Lord Faolan was not a foolish man, and could plainly see they didn't know him from the lowliest beggar in Archenland. Therefore, he went on to explain, "I am an advisor to her majesty, Queen Eleytheria. Those men, the ones you just defeated, were part of a plot to kidnap me and eventually hand me over to the Tisroc to learn what he could of Archenland. You have thwarted that evil plan, and Archenland owes you very much."

"Think-think nothing of it,"Galian said, awkwardly. He was sizing up this Lord Faolan, and he didn't much like what he saw. While Faolan's eyes held a stern, almost sinister look, the rest of his physique was that of an alcoholic. His skin had an ashy, white color to it, and the lids around his eyes seemed swollen and the eyes themselves were bloodshot. His beard was scraggily, though more complete than the one Galian's face bore, and his black hair was thin and tousled. He wasn't any taller than Galian, and certainly no more aggressive. His words were soft-spoken and slurred, and he talked and walked and probably did everything else with a sort of lazy approach. Galian found it very hard to believe that this man was in on the top secret plans that held Archenland together.

However, at this point, this man was their best friend. After he had seen to it that everyone else was fit and able to find home on their own, he found three abandoned horses of the slavers, and led Galian and Aoife on the road to Anvard, with Aoife holding onto Galian's reins, and he promised the two weary travelers they would receive the best of hospitality.

Galian had many questions to ask, mainly about how things had progressed since he had been gone, "Did you say Princess Eleytheria was now queen?"

"She is, indeed, and never has Archenland been ruled by a finer woman."

"What of her father, King Rordan?"

"He died three years ago,"came the dull, bored answer.

"And his sons? Weren't there two?"

"There were. Prince Eoin, the eldest, was a most adventuresome young man, and a perfect warrior and would have been a perfect king. Sadly, he died from an illness he had contracted on a hunting trip in the Western Wild."

"And the second son?"Aoife asked curiously.

"Prince Gearalt was not as...not as virtuous as his brother. He was killed in a bar fight."

The questions continued, and they were answered, though it seemed Lord Faolan did not relish answering them. His responses were short and matter-of-fact, and once again Galian felt a surge of distrust and dislike for the nobleman.

It was nearly dark when they finally arrived at Anvard. Galian and Aoife could feel their stomachs rumbling, and they prayed Lord Faolan would say something about supper soon. Unfortunately, he didn't. First, he led them to a wise, old centaur who tended to their wounds, a long and painful process. Next, they were given clean clothes, ones that looked and felt nice but made Galian slightly uncomfortable, owing to the fact he had worn so few court clothes in his life. As for Aoife, who had donned many extravagant garments, loved her simple yet beautiful scarlet gown, and at first glance she fairly took Galian's breath away.

They were led up several flights of stairs and through many halls, each filled with human and nonhuman voices wishing passers by a pleasant evening. They turned a sharp corner, and behind the plainest door you can imagine, in the plainest library you can imagine, sat, surrounded by her advisors, her majesty Queen Eleytheria of Archenland.

She looked nothing like Galian or Aoife had imagined. What they had imagined, they weren't sure, but it wasn't the petite, slender woman that looked as if she could be blown away by a puff of wind. Her hair was dark and her face was pale and wise, though shrewd. She wasn't the most attractive woman Galian had ever seen, then again his judgement in that area had been clouded of late due to his infatuation with the young woman by his side now. Upon seeing them, the Queen and her Cabinet stood, and Lord Faolan introduced Lady Aoife, formerly Aoife Tarkheena, and Galian of Narnia.

The Queen spoke in a clear and precise voice, "Lord Faolan tells me you two have quite an interesting story to share. Please, sit and tell us of your adventures."

And they did, though it was Aoife who did most of the talking, as Galian had become strangely tongue-tied. The Queen and her advisors proved to be a good audience, gasping and muttering at the right times. When Aoife had finished, Queen Eleytheria turned to Galian, "How many slaves in Calormen do you suspect are Narnian or Archenlander?"

"Two out of five, I would say. Of course, that's a rough estimate,"Galian said quietly, his throat very dry. He wished he had something to drink.

"Two out of five,"she repeated, "that is entirely too many. Why hasn't this come to our attention before?"

"It would have been impossible to tell that so many were passing beyond our borders,"one of her aides replied sharply.

"Hardly a good argument, Lord Aidan, as you are in charge of the security of Archenland and its people,"she spat, "Tomorrow, I want you to see to it personally that our lower border is properly watched. Understood?"

"Yes, your majesty,"the other replied, sulkily.

"And I want to meet again with you all soon to discuss this matter further. I want to make sure that nothing happens to any more of our people as it has happened to our new friends here. And now,"this was addressed to Galian and Aoife, "I'm sure you are both famished and tired as well. Elisud, would you kindly make sure our two guests are taken care of?"

Galian and Aoife were then put into the hands of one of her advisors, one that had been seated at her left. As strange as it sounds, he reminded Galian of a tree more than anything. He was thin and roundish, not fat, but round, like the trunk of a tree, and nearly as tall. His skin was tan, and his hair, which had the consistency of moss, was short and blond and had a green tint to it that was almost impossible to detect if anyone was looking too hard. Even his arms resembled the branches of trees, as they were so long and almost unevenly proportioned. The second thing Galian noticed was how likeable and jubilant the young man was, as if he hadn't a care in the world. He greeted them at once with a bow, introducing himself as Lord Elisud, military advisor to her majesty, and insisted at once that the trio set off to the kitchen to see what they could scrounge up. En route, he asked Galian about his excursions as a slave-fighter, to which Galian answered with a mixture of pride and embarrassment.

"If you want to know the truth, Master Galian,"Elisud said in his lighthearted voice, "I was there the day you were supposedly killed, with Princess Delwyn and the rest of the northern dignitaries. I thought you were a sloppy fighter myself, but I suppose I was wrong, eh? It was really a very brilliant move, very brilliant indeed. What do you say to a friendly little fencing match, as soon as you're well? I'd like to see how good you are for myself."

Galian agreed, though he wondered how long he was to stay in Anvard, for his heart yearned for home. He resolved to stay at least a fortnight, hoping he would be healed by then, and then make as quiet a departure as possible, for he felt all this formality was pompous nonsense and it didn't really suit him. For the moment, however, he enjoyed lighthearted conversation with his new friend, and the three sat laughing at Elisud's stories until Aoife and Galian were no longer able to hold their eyes open. They walked slowly back to their rooms, discussing how wonderful it was to be there, and when they had finally reached their apartments, Aoife, surprising herself and Galian, stood on tiptoe, and gave Galian a light peck on the cheek, wishing him goodnight. Galian stood rooted to the spot for a moment, touched his cheek where she had kissed him, and thanked Aslan for small miracles.


	15. Chapter 15

We're very very close...Thank you again, reviewers! You're the best!

Disclaimer: Narnia is not mine

Chapter 15.

Queen Eleytheria made a very good host. There was not a moment in Galian's stay there that he was not well cared for and given every comfort he would ever need. His leg was healing faster than he had thought possible, and he had become good friends with Elisud. These days were probably the most wonderful Galian had ever lived; ten times more wonderful than his days as a rough, bitter slave. They should have been the best days of his life. Only they weren't.

Galian was homesick. He was so close to Narnia, so close that at times he felt like he could reach out and touch it, and yearned to finally be able to go home. But time and time again he was detained in Anvard. He began to regain that bitterness he had once held as a slave, and was short of temper with some of the servants, and even Aoife or Elisud. When he wasn't occupied with some project the Queen had given him (i.e., destroy the bridge on the southern border, track down any other slavers that might still be in Archenland), Galian could be found looking north, with a hungry look in his eye.

His friends began to notice his restlessness, and did everything in their power to keep him occupied. Aoife took it upon herself to teach him to be a better horseman, claiming that he couldn't be a proper knight without being a proper horseman, though, in the back of his mind, he didn't really want to be a knight, but if Aoife was willing to teach him, who was he to argue? Elisud insisted on fencing matches, with Galian emerging victorious in all but one. They began to attract a rather large audience, mostly servants who were either dodging duty or pretending to be busy or else noblemen who pretended to be bored with the whole thing but were in truth absolutely enthralled with Galian's unpredictable fighting style. Once, after a particularly grueling match, Lord Faolan, who had joined the throng, approached Galian and said, "That was without a doubt the most foolish display of swordplay I've seen in all my days. You fight like a little boy who waves his stick around for fun. But, I suppose if you learn from a rustic you'll fight like a rustic all your days. However, don't expect it to save your life in a battle,"and then he walked away without a word.

Galian was fuming, resisting the urge to ask Faolan if he cared to match his more proper style of fighting with the "rustic" kind, and see who would win. He held his tongue though, and accepted the glass of water the chuckling Elisud had handed to him.

"Don't let it bother you, old man. Faolan has never had to fight for his life since the day he was born. If you want to know the truth, he's a bit scared of you."

"Then he shouldn't talk to me like that,"Galian said bitterly, "I'll give him something to be scared of."

Elisud laughed again, then said, "You know, he's the most arrogant man I've ever known, but he's a damned good advisor. Otherwise the Queen wouldn't keep him around."

"Elisud, I don't trust him. Not one bit. There's something sinister about him, apart from all his lordliness and high class snobbery."

"I've heard him called many things, Galian, but no one's ever gone so far as to call him sinister. Why do you say that?"

"I don't have hard evidence,"Galian confessed sheepishly, "but it's just a feeling I have. A feeling that's rarely incorrect."

"So you'd like me to go to the Queen and demand that she dismiss one of her top advisors based on a _feeling_ you have?" Galian didn't answer, "Listen, old man, Faolan is an ass through and through, and I don't think there's anyone in the castle that would disagree with a statement like that, but he is by no means a traitor. He's considered the most loyal man in Archenland."

And that was the end of the conversation. Galian, however, was not through with his investigation in the least. He asked Aoife for her opinion, assured she would back him up.

"He seems like a straightforward person to me,"came her disappointing answer, "everyone else trusts him, at least."

"You don't think he looks suspicious?"

"I think he looks like all the other Tarkaans I've seen in my life. Overdressed for every occasion, and throughly bored. But that doesn't make him untrustworthy."

The two continued on the mountain path, navigating their horses with some difficulty. Galian had suggested the ride as a way to get Aoife out of the castle and out of earshot, where he could divulge his suspicions in private. And, of course, he liked the extra time he got to spend with her.

"Tell me something, Galian,"she asked, breaking the silence, "what exactly are you accusing him of? Of being suspicious-looking? The Queen and her advisors would need a great deal more than that if they were to dismiss him."

"I know, I know. And right now, I have nothing. I'm not sure where to start, to tell you the truth. I don't know what he's up to, but I know he's up to something."

"Based on this feeling you have?"she asked lightly.

"Don't mock me,"he burst out angrily, "I've been mocked and joked about for entirely too long, and I won't have it anymore."

"I'm sorry, Galian,"she said truthfully.

He immediately felt horrible, "No, it's my fault. I'm just so irritated, with no one taking me seriously. I suppose all in all I'm just frustrated because I can't go home."

"Why can't you?"

"I don't have my leave, for starters."

"Galian, I'm not trying to sound ungrateful, for the Queen and everyone else has been very good to us. But she's not your Queen. She can't technically give you orders. You could leave any day you wanted to. It would be rude, but I've a feeling you care much less about that."

"And what about you?"Galian asked, a slight hint of wistfulness in his voice.

"I don't know,"she said, for the first time sounding unsure of herself, "I wouldn't mind going with you, from what I hear, Narnia must be wonderful. But I am rather enjoying myself here."

"Then you should stay,"Galian said, though inside he was extremely disappointed.

"What if we spend one more week in Anvard? Then, I'll go with you to Narnia. I might like it better. That is, if you don't mind waiting for me?"

Galian's heart beat a little faster, "I'd wait forever for you."

Aoife's face flushed, the innuendo not lost on her. She said, "Thank you,"softly, and not another word was spoken until the reached Anvard, and then it was only wishes of a good afternoon. Galian cursed himself for being such a fool, and cursed himself again for not telling her how he felt while he still had the chance. But, tomorrow was another day. Maybe he would tell her then.

The glowing sun ushered in another beautiful day. Galian awoke, unusually happy for some reason. He dressed (at his request, his clothes had been made plainer then the ones he had worn his first night in Anvard; everyone agreed it made him look much better than the rather ornate ones), and flew down the halls to breakfast with a strong appetite fueling his steps. He was interrupted, however, by Elisud. One look at his face, and Galian knew something was wrong. He had never seen his friend look so serious and upset.

"I was hoping I'd find you. Come with me,"came the short command. En route to wherever the were going, Elisud began a rushed explanation, "Last night, some patrolmen captured a Calormene soldier. He claims to know you, and if he speaks the truth, we might all be in very grave danger."

Galian felt a horrible sense of dread. There was only one Calormene solider that knew him by name and knew he was in fact alive.

Sure enough, as they entered the Queen's private office, Pericles was standing between two stern looking guards. He looked well enough, if not a bit scratched up, as well as tousled and weary. When Galian stepped through the doors, however, he came to life.

"Galian! Tell them you know me! Tell them I'm a friend!"

Galian said nothing. Inside his mind, a terrible battle ensued. If he agreed to Pericles's innocence, he would lose Aoife forever. She loved the captain, and perhaps no matter of pleading on Galian's part would change her mind. He and the captain had never had any love for each other, they almost thought of each other as enemies. And of course, the Queen might not opt to kill him. She'd more than likely throw him into the deepest, darkest dungeon in Archenland. Aoife would never know he had been here, and she would go with Galian to Narnia, like they had planned. The future had never looked brighter for the two.

Pericles looked on in anticipation, and though Galian's face was as stolid as it had ever been, he had already guessed Galian's feelings. In an instant, he felt that he knew what had happened. His face grew ugly, and he waited for the damning answer.

"Galian?"Elisud asked, calling Galian's attention back to the situation at hand, "Do you know this man?"

Galian took a deep breath, then answered, "Yes, I know him. He's a friend, to myself, to Archenland, and to...to Aoife."

Pericles was released, and to seal Galian's fate, Aoife rushed into the room, and upon seeing her lover there, alive and welcomed, she rushed to him, embracing him and kissing him with unwavering passion. Galian could watch no more. Hardly paying attention to Elisud's query, nor to the several others who expressed concern or outrage as he abruptly stormed out of the room. He wasn't exactly sure where he was going, he only knew he wanted to distance himself from the scene as much as possible.

He found refuge in the stables. With nothing better to do, he stopped in front of a particular horse's stall and began stroking her silky nose. She was called Star Dancer, Dancer for short, and she had once been owned by one of the slavers who had fallen at Galian's hand. She was beautiful filly, mostly white but dappled gray, with a gray mane and tail. She seemed to understand Galian's moods more than any other horse ever had, and stood stock still as he stroked her nose, berating himself in his head, wishing he had never fallen in love, wishing, even, that he had never met Aoife.

Footsteps partially muffled by hay alerted Galian of a visitor, but he did not look up. He heard Elisud's voice float through the air, "You're a good man, Galian. Foolish, perhaps, but still good."

Galian said nothing, feeling ultimately miserable. Elisud continued, "Galian, according to Captain Pericles, the Calormenes have organized a great force at that fortress of yours. They intend to attack Archenland within two days."

Galian forgot about his current problem for a moment, "Why? Why are they attacking?"

"A few days ago Queen Eleytheria received a letter from a Suruv Tarkaan. He claimed Archenland was harboring fugitives, and demanded we give Aoife back as soon as possible. Queen Eleytheria declined, of course, but now the Tarkaans seem to believe they have a reason to attack. Truth to tell, they've always looked for a reason to attack, so any is as good as the other,"he paused for a moment, letting the gravity of the situation sink in, "we've already organized a counter-offensive. The army will be mustered in no time, and we'll ride out to meet them. With Aslan's grace, we might be able to beat them back."

Just then Aoife stormed in, with much less subtlety and more purpose than Elisud's entrance.

"Elisud, if you don't mind, I'd like to speak to Galian?"there was a tone in her voice that let both men know she wasn't in the best of moods. Elisud took his leave, and when she could hear his footsteps no more, Aoife began, asking sharply, "Why didn't you tell me Pericles was the one who helped you out of the fortress?"

Galian didn't answer right away, and when he did, he chose his words carefully"I didn't want you to get distracted. Our main purpose was to get out of there alive, and to do that you had to have a clear mind,"he said dully.

"But why not tell me later? He said you gave him your word that you would tell me,"she accused.

"So I did."

"You went back on your word, Galian!"

"You're absolutely right!"he nearly shouted, throwing his hands up in surrender, "I did. I lied to you and to him. What more do you want me to say?"

"I want to know why!"she said, nearly as loud.

"No you don't. Trust me, you really don't,"and he made for the door. She blocked his way.

"I do. I want you to tell me the truth. Why didn't you tell me it was him?"

"Let's just say it was in my better interests _not_ to tell you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that I damn well wasn't going to give him credit for anything, deserved or not."

"And why not? Why are you so interested in seeing him fall?"

"Because I'm in love with you!"

She stood rigid at his last words, clearly not the ones she expected to hear. Unable to take his words back, the only thing Galian could do was go on, "Aoife, you're the bravest, kindest, most wonderful woman I've ever known..."

"Galian, don't..."

"If I had my choice, we'd go to Narnia and live together forever, just you and me..."

"Please, stop."

"And I think that deep down, you might care for me to."

"Galian, stop! I...I can't,"she brushed by him, suddenly feeling as if she could breathe, "I just can't. I'm...I'm supposed to marry Pericles. I can't Galian."

Galian's voice broke the few seconds of strained silence between them that had ensued, with a voice so hopeful and yet so quiet it was hardly heard, "Aoife, do you love me?"

She turned to him, tears in her eyes, her answer ready on her lips...

"What's going on?"

The harsh voice of Pericles cut Aoife off. He marched in to see Aoife looking as if she were about to cry and Galian looking nearly sick. Pericles wasn't a fool. He knew what had been going on.

At once he faced Galian, the latter thinking that if Aoife had not been standing there at that moment, he would have killed the Captain with his bare hands.

"You lied to me,"Pericles spat.

"I did."

"After I helped you. _Twice_! I helped you _twice_! And you betrayed me."

"You're right, Captain, I did."

"This isn't a laughing matter, boy,"Pericles said dangerously, stepping closer to Galian, "if I had my choice, you'd be crying for mercy by now."

"And if I had mine, Captain, you'd be dead,"Galian said, just as evilly, "you're right when you say what I did was inexcusable. I apologize, to you and to Aoife," he stepped away from the captain, turning at the door to say, "And don't _ever_ call me a boy again."

Pericles was left shaking, either from anger or nerves, Aoife couldn't tell which.

"The bloody coward,"Pericles spat.

"What did you call him?"Aoife asked, threateningly.

"A coward, that's what I called him. A no good, low, dirty coward."

"Don't call him that! Don't ever call him that! He's done and seen more than you'll ever imagine!"and, feeling foolishly very much like a girl, she burst into tears.

Pericles did not comfort her, only stood a few paces away until her emotion subsided. When she was through, he asked her, "I want you to tell me something, and I want the truth. Do you love him?"

Now, that was the question, wasn't it? Aoife cared a great deal for Galian, and her feelings for him had grown stronger every day. Did she love him? Or did she love Pericles? Did she know who she loved anymore?

"Aoife, do you?"

"I love _you_, Pericles."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"It should be enough for you for now. For now, you have to concentrate on this battle. I wish I was going with you."

"No you don't. You have no idea how horrible battles can be."

"I've killed my share of men, Pericles, I think I know how horrible it can be,"she replied, annoyed.

Later that night, the stables had a human occupant once more. Galian was there, saddling Dancer, preparing for a long journey. He had done some hard thinking that afternoon. If he started now, he would be in Narnia by daybreak. In Narnia, away from all this nonsense.

As expected, Elisud dropped by. He had heard of Galian's intentions of departure from the Queen, who had been less than happy to allow Galian to go.

"So you're leaving, then?"

"Right,"Galian said, not trusting himself to look up. His will hung by a thread as it was.

"Is there anything I can do to make you stay?"

"You could hang Pericles."

Elisud gave a bitter laugh, "And ruin his hero's welcome? In all honesty, though, we could use you."

"I'm sorry, old man. This isn't my fight,"though Galian couldn't really convince himself.

"You're right, it's not. I see I can't make you stay. In that case...I wish you well, my friend."

The two shook hands, a lump rising in Galian's throat. This was going to be harder than he had thought.

"Aoife was somewhere behind me,"Elisud said conversationally.

"She's always had that habit of showing up inconveniently."

Three seconds later, her storming footsteps could be heard entering the stable. She paid no attention to Elisud, but moved straight towards Galian.

"Where are you going?"she demanded harshly.

Galian's reply was simple. He found it best to keep his answers short and to the point, "Home."

"How can you leave now? When there's a battle to be fought?"

"It's not my fight, Aoife,"he told her, fiddling with the stirrups with some difficulty. His hands were shaking horribly.

"Not-not your fight!"she exclaimed, in a high pitched voice. She had never, ever, in all the days that she had known him, expected Galian to run from a fight. She turned to Elisud, as if noticing him for the first time, "Elisud, he'll listen to you. Make him stay!"

"I can't 'make' him do anything. I can only hope he'll change his mind."

She glared at him for his lack of support, then confronted Galian, deciding to try another tactic, "Galian, you're the best fighter we've got. We haven't a chance of defeating the Calormenes without you."

"That's a bit of an overstatement, isn't it?"he replied, dryly.

Her soft voice came softly, a sign she was losing her resolution,"Why? Why leave now?"

He sighed, "I'm tired, Aoife. I'm tired of killing men. You asked me once how I was able to bear it all. I can't. I dream about them, every night. I see their faces. Sometimes, if I'm horribly unlucky, I see their families, grieving for them, cursing my name. If every moment of my life has amounted to this moment, the moment when I am known as 'Galian the Fighter' or 'Galian the Killer,' my existence doesn't seem to be worth much, don't you think?"

It was a good speech, one that he had been giving himself all afternoon to make himself feel better. Aoife didn't answer. Both she and Elisud, who had become unusually quiet, watched as he finished saddling Dancer. He led her out of her stall and mounted her, shaking Elisud's hand one last time. Finally, and with more difficulty, he said good bye to Aoife.

"Galian, if this is because..."

"Don't,"he said, fearfully, with tears in his eyes and sorrow in his voice. As her own tears began to fall, he kicked Dancer in the ribs, more harshly than he had intended. He wanted to leave as soon as possible.

Aoife stopped the flow of tears immediately. She had never liked crying, had never really liked being emotional, and she felt she had done entirely too much of that lately. She looked at Elisud again, this time with a small smile, "I suppose I've made a real mess of things, haven't I?

He returned her smile and put a comforting arm around her, "Come with me. There's a bottle of ale waiting for us back in the castle."


	16. Chapter 16

Alright, so, I need to explain the next few chapters. Originally, Chapter 16 was going to be one super-long chapter, but I thought that some people might not have the time nor the attention span to read a giant chapter, so I've split it into three smaller chapters. So, this chapter is shorter, and perhaps a little duller, but the good news is, I have the next two already written, so it won't take me long to post. Just bear with me.

Special thanks to all my reviewers. Your responses blew me away.

Disclaimer: Narnia belongs to C.S. Lewis

Dedicated to all the hurricane victims. Everyone, they need help down there. Send whatever you can, be it money, prayers, yourself, whatever. They need us.

Chapter 16.

To look at the weather, you never would have known that the day would end the way it did. The sky was blue and clear, with just enough of the puffy sort of clouds to shield the land from the scorching heat of the sun. It wasn't too hot, nor was it too cold. It was the perfect sort of weather to be out of doors for. Unfortunately, it seems to be the most beautiful of days that we do not appreciate. Elisud felt like that today. He was entirely too busy setting up camp on the southern border, directing soldiers here and there, and receiving hourly reports from scouts and other subordinates. Eagles and ravens and birds of that sort made up the former group. They had nothing to report until late afternoon, when one of them informed Elisud that the enemy was beginning to pour out of the fortress in masses. The army was put on full alert, and all scouts were called back, save for the one who had reported the Calormene movement. He volunteered to fly back and try to calculate the exact number of enemy fighters. He never returned.

All night, activity could be heard from the south. While most were antsy and ready to begin the battle, they were ordered to hold their positions, and it wasn't until the cold hours of the morning that they engaged the enemy. Arrows rained down upon them relentlessly. Most of the soldiers had armor thick enough to thwart major injuries, and the quicker animals, the panthers for example, were able to dart here and there to avoid being hit. It was the slower of the fighters, such as the badgers or bears, that suffered the most. By daybreak, many of these slower animals were dead.

If Elisud ever did anything right with the army, it was that he held his archers to a very high standard. The Calormenes were unable to get close enough to engage the Archenlanders head on for most of the day. Later on, however, they seem to have enough reinforcements to push on. It was here that Archenlanders faltered. They managed to beat the Calormene army back, but not without several devastating losses on either side. The next day, they were unable to beat them back at all. The day after that, they lost a significant amount of ground.

That night, Elisud sat in his tent, alternating his attention from field maps to a bottle of rum. This was a much, much different Elisud than anyone had ever really known. There were no jokes now, nor pleasant smiles, nor jubilant activity. His eyes were bloodshot and swollen, from lack of sleep and his lesser mentioned alcoholism. He was edgy, short tempered, and utterly exhausted, and of course, who could blame him?

The doorway of his tent flapped open, and he turned to see a very tall, muscular man standing in the doorway. He was Lord Eoghan (A/N: pronounced YO-in), and there are a few things that should be known about him. First of all, he was the second most powerful man in Archenland, answering only to the Queen herself. Second, he was in fact married to the Queen, but couldn't call himself King as he was by birth a Narnian. Third, he was Elisud's elder brother.

To say the two men were as different as night and day would have been a severe understatement. When Elisud was usually as lighthearted as a man could be, Eoghan was dead serious. People doubted he had ever cracked a smile, let alone told a joke in his life. He was the gravest man anyone ever knew, in fact, during normal times, Elisud used to tease him by saying their mother must have had a fling with a marshwiggle before she married their father, a comment not usually met with a warm reception on Eoghan's part. But, despite his gravity, he ran a country very well, and he was by far the fairest politician anyone ever knew.

"Well?"Elisud asked him.

"Are you alright?"

"No, I'm not bloody alright. I've lost over two hundred soldiers in three days."

"The enemy is stronger than you anticipated, I suppose,"came the quiet voice, barely heard above the din outside.

"There was no way I could have known how many soldiers were in that fortress. I didn't know there _was_ a damned fortress until a fortnight ago."

"No one is blaming you,"the other said, sitting down on the bed.

"Liar. I know what they're saying. 'Yes, well, we all knew he wouldn't turn out to be a good commander. The only reason he even has that position is because he's the Queen's brother-in-law,'."

Eoghan's brow wrinkled, "Why do you say that?"

"I'm not a fool, even though I may act like one. I want you to tell me the truth. Was I given this job because I'm your brother?"

Eoghan didn't answer for a long time. He wasn't sure how to tell his brother, or how he would react, "Alright then. It's true. After Prince Geralt died, and Eleytheria became queen, I went to her and asked her to give you a position on the cabinet, or make you a duke, anything to give you some responsibility."

Elisud was quiet, so the other continued, "Everyone knew you and Geralt were good friends. And everyone knew how guilty you felt when Geralt was killed."

"I was there, Eoghan. I saw the man come towards him with the knife drawn. And I couldn't do anything. I was so blinding drunk I didn't know what was happening. I was right bloody there,"he finished, reaching for the rum. His brother took it away from him.

"Geralt spent more time in that tavern than he did in the palace. He always was looking for trouble. It was bound to happen one day or another, whether you were there or not. But, that's why I asked Eleytheria to make you an advisor. I thought you would go back to drinking, more than before, and I didn't want you to waste your life like that. You're a brilliant man, Elisud. I hope you realize that one day."

There was an awkward silence between them for a while. They normally weren't so emotional with each other. It just wasn't something they felt comfortable doing. Presently, though, Eoghan broke the silence, "Listen, this battle, it's worse than anyone thought it could ever be. If you want to step down, everyone will understand."

"Step down?"Elisud asked angrily.

"Don't get offended. You're a good leader, Elisud. But in situations like these, good won't keep soldiers alive."

"And I can step down? Just like that?"

"You can."

Eoghan could see his brother's mind working as the latter paced the room. He hadn't really thought it was a difficult decision. He figured Elisud would say yes, step down, go back to the taverns and drink until Eoghan found something else to keep him out of trouble.

The answer wasn't what he expected, "Ever since we were young, you always tried to keep me out of trouble."

"Without much success,"the other added dryly.

"I'm grown, now, Eoghan. I don't need you to recuse me anymore. I'm glad you gave me this position. I swore an oath to fulfill my duties until I die or my Queen release me. And that's what I'll do."

Eoghan stood from his sitting position on the bed, gripped his brother's shoulder, the only sign of affection they ever really showed each other, and left the tent.

Elisud returned to his maps. After a few minutes, he rose and went to his trunk. In it was a smaller flask of rum. Elisud uncorked it, regarded the bottle for a minute, then returned it to the trunk. He didn't need a drink. He needed a miracle.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17.

And now we must go back a few days, three to be exact. While Elisud was preparing for a battle, Galian could be seen picking his way around the mountain pass to Narnia. It was a beautiful day, as mentioned before, but Galian could not enjoy it any more than Elisud could. He was deep in thought, mostly trying to convince himself he was doing the right thing. The more convincing he required for himself, the more short tempered he got, and he was rather harsh with Dancer, who could be as stubborn as her master, and proceeded to do things her way, irritating Galian all the more. Finally, the land more or less leveled out, and the road forked into three lanes. Galian took the far left path, which presently led to heavily forested area. Very few men lived here. Mostly talking animals, fauns, dwarves, centaurs, and the like called this part of Narnia home. The Dancing Lawn was not more than a few miles away, and most creatures resided on the edge. Galian's destination was a little farm situated between the Dancing Lawn and the mountains. As he rode, Galian noticed several familiar landmarks; the places he used to hide from Domus, the locations where he would set small snares for the occasional rabbit or squirrel (the non-talking sort, of course), or possibly abandoned buildings where people he may have known had lived. Everything was familiar, though Galian noticed with rather foolish surprise that nothing was the same.

He finally reached the area more commonly inhabited by fauns. Here the houses were close enough to walk to but far enough for privacy. He met many homesteaders along this road, most of them looking at him with curiosity. He thought he recognized some of them, but he couldn't be sure.

He finally came to a long, dark, dirt road, and he paused, his heart pounding. There was the warm, comforting home of his boyhood. In there, hopefully, was Domus, probably expecting no one, receiving instead his long-lost adopted son.

It may have been the longest walk of his life. With Dancer following unsurely behind him, Galian walked as quickly as he could, feeling like he was in a dream. He finally, after what seemed to be forever, reached the door. Should he knock? Or just barge in? It was his home, after all. But Galian was unsure of himself, and knocked all the same.

It took several tries, but eventually the door flew open. An old, gray faun stood on the threshold, obviously irritated. This faun was old, and wrinkled, with a down turned mouth and gritted teeth. One look at him, and Galian's heart sunk. This wasn't Domus.

"Well?"the faun croaked in the squeaky voice of a grumpy old man.

"Domus?"Galian chanced, thinking he might have been wrong.

"No. Who the bloody hell are you?"

"It doesn't matter. I'm sorry I bothered you,"and Galian began to walk away, a lump in his throat.

"Wait a moment,"the old faun called. Galian turned around, "I don't believe it,"the faun croaked, "Galian?"

"Yes?"

"I don't believe it,"the faun said again, awestruck, standing openmouthed and wide eyed on the steps, "well, don't you know me, son?"when Galian didn't answer, the excited faun exclaimed, "You young fool! It's me! Silex! Domus's brother, you idiot!"

And now Galian understood. Underneath those wrinkles and that extensive beard was the faun he had called uncle. But what a change in him!

In a moment, Galian was pushed into the house, and tea was set out, though Galian felt there were more important things than eating at the moment. As soon as Silex sat, Galian fired off his first question, "Where is Domus?"

Silex shook his head, "I'm sorry, Galian. He's dead. He died three months ago."

Galian had figured as much, but even prior knowledge couldn't make the lump in his throat go away. Silex continued, "You should know, boy, he never stopped looking for you. Every day of his life, every time he went anywhere, he asked anyone and everyone about you. He was often gone for days with some search party or another. After some time, no one would volunteer to go on a search party, figuring you were gone for good, or else dead. I admit, even I abandoned him in the later years. I'm an old faun, my boy, and I couldn't handle the distance anymore. But Domus, no, nothing would stop him, not rain, not snow, nothing."

There was a pause as the elderly faun carefully sipped the scalding tea. Galian's lay abandoned, his thoughts still with his dead guardian. An emptiness lay inside of him. He didn't know what he should do now.

"Tell me, boy,"Silex croaked, "where _have_ you been all this time?"

Galian took a deep breath, looking from his knees to Silex's face. And the story came out. Every bit, from his first fight with Hapeth to his last with Aoife, and everything in between. It seemed to take forever, and when he was done, the food lying cold and forgotten, Silex stroked his massive beard as he had done throughout the entire story, eyes still wide and jaw half open. He leaned back as if to recover from all the information he had just heard, glancing out the window. Finally, he returned his attention back to Galian, and asked, "And why did you want to come home?"

"Well...because..."Galian sputtered. It seemed to be a most ridiculous question, and yet a fair one. Why did he come home? "Because it's my home."

"You weren't so keen to call it home when you were a boy. Isn't that why you ran away from home all the time?"

"No. I ran away because...because I was a stupid, irresponsible ass, I suppose. But I'm back now, and after eleven years of slavery, I'm not too inclined to participate in any more adventures. I want to stay here, on the farm, and grow corn and cotton and tobacco (A/N: A tribute to my southern heritage), and anything else Domus ever grew on this farm."

"Alright. This land is yours, actually. Domus left it to you in his will. I was supposed to take care of it until you returned. But it's all yours. So you'll stay here, and be a farmer, and be done with it all?"

"Yes, I will."

"And forget about your friends? Your friends that might die in this battle you told me about?"

"Of course I won't forget them! They're my friends."

"Then why did you leave?"

"I told you why!"

"You told me some cock and bull story about not wanting to be a fighter anymore. Do you realize what it is you've done? You've done the exact same thing you did when you were a boy. When things get complicated, you run away."

Galian opened his mouth to object, but closed it again. He hadn't really thought of it like that before.

"That's why you always ran away. Domus would give you a chore, or set a standard for you, expect you to do well in school, and you'd run away, just because you didn't want to face the work. You weren't a lazy boy, but you were irresponsible. Galian, you've become a man, anyone can see that. You're twice the man most are. But in some ways, you are very much that little boy that used to run away for weeks on end, afraid of responsibility, afraid of trying."

Galian still didn't say anything. The realization of the truth was hard to accept, and yet it was so very true he couldn't ignore it. He wasn't the hero he had thought himself to be. He was an irresponsible fool, afraid to face the problems in life most important. He could kill any man on earth who dared to face him, but he couldn't let bygones be bygones, accept his situation, and fight alongside his friends.

"Listen, son, it's been a long day for you. Why don't you go and rest a bit? In the morning, you can decide what you'd like to do."

Even though it was the middle of the afternoon, Galian obeyed, feeling as if he could sleep for a thousand years. He entered the bedroom that used to be his, laughed when his feet hung off the end of the bed, and immediately fell fast asleep. And he slept and slept. He slept well into the afternoon, into twilight, into the late hours of the night. It was early morning, and he was still asleep, only this time, in the deepest sleep imaginable, he had the most peculiar dream.

He was in Archenland, standing just before Anvard. It was a bright day, the red clay contrasting drastically against the greenness all round him. But somehow, the red clay didn't look natural. It was more red than brown, in fact, it was very red, almost blood red. He looked again, and the castle seemed to have something falling off of it. At a closer glance, Galian saw nothing was falling off. The castle was..._melting_.

Slowly, it oozed down the slope, growing thicker and thicker. Galian only just avoided it by getting to higher ground. As he watched, the ooze crept about, consuming everything in it's path, until everything he saw was covered in the chilling red. He dipped his fingers into the liquid. To his horror, it was real blood.

"Archenland is dying."

Galian spun around, previously unaware that anyone else was there. When he did turn, he saw with a start that it was none other than Domus himself, just as Galian remembered him. He didn't look a bit old, or wrinkled, and the light of a faun's eyes was still there. Without really meaning to, Galian began to cry and shake. He fell to his knees, unable to look up at the one he had always thought of as a father.

"Stand up, Galian. It's no good hiding anymore."

Galian found he couldn't. Physically, mentally, he just couldn't. He felt a hand under his elbow, and obeyed Domus's summons. He stood, and finally looked the faun in the eye.

"Galian, this is where you should be. Archenland is dying. They need you."

"What can I do? I'm just one man!"

"You are not just one man. You are a leader, Galian. You are a fighter. Like it or not, that is who you are. That is who you were meant to be. You can't run from destiny anymore. You have a duty. You have a purpose."

"I'm afraid, Domus."

The other smiled, and gripped the young man's shoulder, "Even the bravest of creatures feels fear."

Domus stepped aside, and there, so bright and golden that everything in comparison looked dull. It was Him. The Great Lion.

Galian still didn't feel brave. He felt dirty, unclean. All the mistakes he had ever made, all the men he had ever killed, and all the horrible thoughts that Aslan and Domus had abandoned him came rushing to him. He began to shake all the more. He waited for Aslan's anger and His scolding. Hell, he deserved to be whipped for all his feats in the past week alone. He would almost be glad to pay for what he had done...

But Aslan didn't rebuke. He didn't scold, and he wasn't angry. He leaned his head forward, touching Galian's head with his nose, his warm breath washing all over Galian, the latter of which finally feeling more or less relaxed.

"You are not a boy any longer. You are a leader. I would not give you this task if I did not know you could carry it out, and carry it out well. Go, my son. Archenland is dying."

Galian awoke in a cold sweat mingled with tears. The morning sun shown through his window. It was another beautiful day.

Gaian stood. He knew what he had to do. It didn't make him any less afraid, but somehow he knew he could do it.

"Good morning, boy,"Silex greeted him as Galian walked into the kitchen. Galian had to smile. For some reason, Silex hardly ever called him by his name. Mostly it was "boy" or "son."

"Silex, do you think you could manage the estate a bit longer?"

"Absolutely. Are you going back, then?"

"Yes, I am,"Galian hesitated a moment before adding, "and I'm not going alone..."


	18. Chapter 18

Thanks again, reviewers! We're very, very close...

Disclaimer: Yeah, you know...

Chapter 18.

Now, we must go back to Elisud, a day or so later. After a night of feverish praying, Elisud emerged from his tent looking sick but no less determined. Today would be his judgement day. He would either drive the Calormenes out of Archenland, or he would die trying.

As he was walking to the armorer, he was addressed by an all too eager looking aide, "Sir, every able bodied man, woman, faun, centaur, and talking animal has arrived. Lord Eoghan suggested calling to Narnia for aid, but he said he'll leave that decision to you."

"King Rilian is away, in the islands. The regent isn't allowed to call out the army unless in extreme emergencies. At any rate, it would take them two days to reach us. It may be too late by then."

"So you do not wish to call for aid?"the very thorough aide asked.

"No. Instead, send word to every non combatant citizen to make for Narnia or the Islands. A small escort can see them to the border, but we'll need the escort to come back as soon as they can."

"Yes, sir."

By midday, everyone shared the same agitation and desperation that Elisud felt. A little after noon, everyone was armed and ready for the rash counteroffensive Elisud had organized. Just before the time to attack came, as he was riding past the archers, one in particular caught his eye. Shaking his head, he redirected his horse to the familiar fair-haired female warrior.

"Aoife, what on earth do you think you're doing?"

"I'm riding with the archers. If this is going to be the last stand, then I don't want to be cowering in a corner somewhere waiting to be killed."

"I can't say I blame you. Do you think your arm will be alright?"he asked, noticing it was still bent at a peculiar angle.

"It will do. It's not as if you have a choice. You need as many fighters as you can get, don't you?"

"Yes, but I'd rather they be in good physical condition so they won't get themselves killed."

"Don't worry, I'll be fine,"she reassured.

"Does Pericles know you're here?"

She glared at him coldly, "I do not need his permission to do what I please."

"Does he?"

This time she looked sheepish, "Well, no..."

He chuckled dryly. It felt strange to laugh, "Be extra careful then, will you? I wouldn't want to have to face him if something happened to you."

"Then I'll see you after the battle?"it was a question, not a statement. Elisud didn't say anything. He couldn't make any promises.

The artillery had been in action all day, and had done a very satisfactory amount of damage. Now it was the infantry's turn. They lined up, with nervous faces, as if they were fighting the temptation to turn and run.

Elisud faced them, noticing their horror-struck faces. A frightened warrior was an ill-fated one; he needed to think of something, anything, to reassure them, even if it was giving them futile hope.

"Archenlanders! We are going into a battle with half as many fighters as our enemy has. Some might tell you the odds are against us. I tell you now, that is not true. They may have great numbers, but we have greater heart. We fight for our country, for our families, and for Aslan. They fight for money, for another man's greed. They have no determination. But you do. I would rather have ten warriors who fight selflessly than a thousand who fight for greed. I am lucky enough to fight alongside such great warriors as you. Now, let's send these bastards home."

A cry issued from the army, the effect of Elisud's speech more effective than he had thought it would be. He nodded to his trumpeter to sound the charge. Before the other could put his lips to the horn, however, a sharp, valiant noise had echoed throughout the valley. Every head on the battlefield turned to the last ridge behind the Archenlanders, where a lone rider stood, holding a green flag with a red rampant lion.

"The Narnians!"somebody exclaimed joyously. Sure enough, the lone rider was joined by several hundreds more. Elisud, however, was more focused on the rider, who had handed the flag off to another and had drawn his sword as his small, gray dappled horse trotted down the ridge with the rest.

"I don't believe it..."he whispered in an awestruck voice, for even from that distance, he knew who that rider was.

Sure enough, Galian was positively beaming at him when the Narnians joined the ranks of the Archenlanders. The Narnian commander, a short, pudgy man no one would think would have the ability to command an army, came up to Elisud, saying in a gruff voice, "Sorry we're late. It was a mess, trying to get the army activated with his Highness away. We're at your disposal, Lord Elisud."

The ranks were rearranged a bit, and the army, much more positive about their objective, charged. The problem with fighting in southern Archenland is there isn't a nice, level field in which to conduct a swift, flowing calvary charge. As it was, the land here was sloped and broken, and the trees grew thickly about everywhere. Thus, Elisud's charge was slow and not as horrifying as he had meant it to be. This put them at a slight disadvantage, but only a slight one, for the Archenlanders knew this country much better than their enemy, which is always a key factor in any victory. The armies finally met, with such a loud clatter that many were stunned for a moment. Everywhere, the battle cry of both Northerner and Calormene could be heard, mixed with the clash of metal and the roar and barks and various animal noises. The Narnians, fresh and well-prepared for battle, were fighting marvelously, and the Archenlanders, aided by Elisud's speech and the arrival of the Narnians, had received their second wind. In no time, they had the Calormenes beaten back. Filled with savage glee, they pursued their enemy until twilight, when the enemy had their backs to the very southern border, many of the Calormenes giving their cause up for lost and crossing the river without the consent of their officers. By morning, Elisud hypothesized, they would be gone.

He stood on the last ridge, overlooking the river, watching the Calormenes give themselves to chaos. Even now, he couldn't believe they had won. It might take some time to eradicate every single Calormene soldier, for most had hurried into the densely forested area when they knew the battle was lost. But it was enough for him. Archenland was safe again, for the time being.

He turned to see Aoife, thank the Lion she was still alive, though she seemed to be cradling her already damaged arm. Behind her, looking like a sad, concerned puppy, was Pericles, dirty and disheveled but for the most part very well. They greeted each other warmly, glad to see that one another was still alive and kicking. Another figure caught their eye, a few yards away. There, walking with sword still in hand, was Galian. Something, none of them were sure what, had changed. He looked older and much more mature, like the Narnian he was supposed to be. Upon seeing them, he smiled slightly, and saluted. Elisud returned the salute, and the two started towards each other.

Around them were the bodies of Calormenes and sadly a few Archenlanders. In some places, the bodies were piled knee-high. As Galian walked by one of these, his sword hanging loosely in hand, a brown hand shot from underneath one of the piles, jerking Galian's sword away from him. Time seemed to move very, very quickly from that point.. Before Galian had a chance to realize his sword was gone, the Calormene was already on foot, and before Galian could move, the attacker had driven the sharp blade into his chest.

He screamed in pain, and looked down at the wound, from which blood began to pour. The attacker maliciously withdrew the sword, causing Galian to stumble. He looked up as the sword was raised, about to deal the deadly stroke that would end the young Narnian's short life.

Before the attacker could finish his stroke, however, Pericles came to the rescue, lobbing off the fiend's head before he could finish the job. Galian, finally losing his strength, pitched forward, and was caught by Elisud. Over his friend's shoulder, he could see Aoife screaming. Funny, though, that he couldn't hear here. He couldn't hear anything but the wind in his ears. The wound had stopped hurting now, all he felt was cold. Elisud laid him on the ground, and Galian could see that his blood had stained Elisud's tunic. The later was saying something, but again, Galian couldn't hear him. The world was beginning to look fuzzy and was growing dark. He had the oddest sensation he was being lifted up, then he knew nothing more.


	19. Chapter 19

Well, everyone, this had definitely been one hell of a ride. I hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Disclaimer: Narnia does not belong to me.

This chapter is dedicated to you all! Thanks for all your support!

Chapter 19.

"He'll live. He's not completely out of danger yet. He lost a lot of blood today. However, I believe that if we keep a close eye on him, and if he does not develop an infection, there is no reason why he shouldn't be back to normal within a month and a half."

It was with these words from the centaur that Aoife and Elisud let out a simultaneous sigh of relief. They were sitting just outside the large room in Anvard that was currently serving as a makeshift hospital, and had been there for the best part of three hours. Both were, as you can imagine, weary and sore, and Elisud probably had more pressing matters to worry about at the moment, but he was so concerned for Galian that he had asked his brother to take over for the time being. Now, he would get a few hours' sleep, and return to his work in the morning.

Aoife's arm had been rebroken. During the course of battle, she had fallen off her horse while avoiding an incoming spear, and had the great misfortune to land on her already fragile arm. The break had been worse than before, and the centaurs had told her she would never regain full use of it again. She would have worried about her future, if she hadn't already decided what she was going to do after this mess was over.

Three weeks passed, and everything was more or less back to normal. Galian had regained consciousness, and was just as eager to see his friends as they were to see him. They all sat, round his bed (he was in his own room now), laughing and carrying on, until Elisud finally said, "Look here, old boy, this is all well and good, but we want to know what happened. What made you change your mind and come back?"

"Let's just say,"Galian replied, "that I received some very good advice from some very influential people. They made me see that I was being rather a fool, and that my place was here. Honestly, I don't think I could have gone on with my life knowing you all might have been dead. Anyway, after I realized that, I rode over to Cair Paravel, and told them what was going on. I think at first they weren't inclined to believe me, at any rate, there was a lot of argument about the whole thing. When the finally got confirmation that, yes, there was a brutal, bloodthirsty band of Calormenes threatening the existence of Archenland as we know it, there was another hubbub about whether or not this was grounds to call out the army. Finally, that hefty fellow that called himself the General said to the regent, 'Sir, you can debate about this all you like, but if our brothers in Archenland are dying, I will not hesitate to send my army to their aid,' and after a bit, we left Narnia, and you know everything from there."

"Well, if it wasn't for you, we surely wouldn't have survived that battle. I'm glad you're alright, you damned old fool,"he said, and after shaking Galian's hand, started to leave.

"Where do you think you're going?"Galian asked suspiciously. He was loathing every minute of his bed-ridden condition and was throughly peeved that his friends were out and about doing things while he saw the inside of the same room all day and night.

"The last of the Calormenes is gone, my good friend,"he replied cheekily, "which, in everyone's opinion, is cause for a good celebration. Coming, you two?"he asked Aoife and Pericles. Aoife rose to follow, after giving Galian a peck on the cheek (one that made Pericles and Galian both turn red). She turned to Pericles, who had not moved from his position against the wall.

"Pericles?"

"I'll be right there. I've...I've just got something private to say. It's alright,"he added, when she gave him a suspicious look. She did leave though, leaving the two young men alone together. An awkward silence settled between them, growing worse and worse as Pericles was obviously struggling with what to say. Eventually, he blurted out, "Look here! We're even now, aren't we? You saved my life by telling Queen Eleytheria I was a friend. I saved yours by killing that soldier before he could cut off your head. Neither one of us owes the other anything."

Galian looked out the window a moment, contemplating what Pericles had just said, "No, we're not even. As long as we both love Aoife, we'll never be even. And we'll never be friends."

"I suppose not,"Pericles said in a melancholy voice, as if surrendering to the inevitable.

"But,"Galian continued, "we could be allies."

He held out his hand to Pericles, who regarded it for a moment, then took it.

And the two men shook hands.

Aoife was having a wonderful time at the celebration. It had been solemn at first, with tribute to those who had given the last full measure, but now there was laughter, music and dancing, and more food than she had ever seen in one place at one time. She had been talking and chatting all evening, and now stood alone, watching Elisud dance with Princess Delwyn. She was just thinking what an attractive couple they would make if they were a couple, when she heard a dry, bored, slurred voice ask, "You do not dance, Lady Aoife?"

She turned to see Lord Faolan, looking actually very nice in a woodland green-colored tunic. He was actually smiling, which Aoife knew, relatively new as she was, was a rare occurrence in itself.

"My mobility is too limited this evening to do anything but watch,"she told him, gesturing to her bound arm.

"Of course, how foolish of me. And how brave of you. Very few, men and women alike, would have the courage to do what you did."

She was beginning to wonder what exactly it was Galian disliked about Faolan. He seemed tame enough to her, "I've never liked watching, Lord Faolan. I've always been one to act instead."

"Which is why it must be hard for you to watch the dancers and not participate."

She laughed, "I confess, my dancing abilities are not as bragged about as my courage, Lord Faolan."

He laughed in return, and they both were silent for a moment as they watched the dancers. Finally, he said to her, "We captured a good number of Calormene fugitives today."

"Indeed?"

"Yes. There is one I think you would take an interest in."

"Oh?"she asked, puzzled, "Who?"

"Would it please you to follow me?"and he guided her through the crowd, away from the banquet. They went down several flights of stairs, down to the dungeons. Patrolmen heavily populated this area of the castle, and saluted Faolan smartly as he passed, Aoife in his wake. They passed several iron doors, stopping at the very last one on the left. Faolan turned to Aoife and handed her a long, sharp dagger.

"Just in case,"he told her, before unlocking the door and ushering her in.

The room couldn't have been more than nine feet long and wide. The only furniture was a waste bucket in the corner and a bed built into the wall. A small, iron tray with uneaten bread and water sat in the middle of the room. On the bed sat a dirty and ragged Calormene, his head in his hands. When the door opened, he did not look up just yet, but when he did, both he and Aoife gasped. After all, she did not expect to see her father, no more than did Suruv expect to see his runaway daughter.

He was the first to recover from the shock, "So this is where you ran away to?"

"Yes. But, you..."

"You're wondering how I came to fight in the battle? And eventually be captured?"

Aoife nodded. Suruv began, "The Tisroc (may he live forever) knows nothing of this. I assume he will know nothing of it until those that escaped arrive in Tashbaan, and of course he will not claim knowledge of our attack. No, we were organized by someone else. I only wrote that letter to the Queen demanding you back so that it would seem to the world that we had grounds to attack. No, our leader could care less about my runaway daughter."

"Who is this leader you speak of?"

Suruv hesitated, looking around the room as if trying to spot someone hidden, which it would have been impossible for anyone to hide in such as bare room as that. He motioned Aoife to come closer, who did, after gripping the dagger a bit tighter. In a low whisper, Suruv told her, "He is no ordinary man. In fact, I would not call him a man. He is more like a monster."

"Who is, Suruv?"

"We call him the Sorcerer. He is a great, horrible wizard, bent on destroying Narnia. He will stop at nothing. He will send every man, woman, and child in Calormen to his or her death until he had complete possession of these countries. And when he does get possession, because he will, oh yes, his obsession is strong and he will have them, when he has them, I say, our lives will just as well be over. He will put us through the worst hell his imagination will be able to fathom, and I can tell you, his imagination is great."

"But who _is_ he, Suruv?"

"And what is worse, he is everywhere. He is here now, in this cell. Oh, we can't see him, that is part of his magic, but he is here. He knows I have failed. And he told me, if I failed..."and here, surprising Aoife more than everything Suruv had just told her, Suruv began to cry. Not just a whimper, either, but a sob that, even after the horrible way he had treated her, made Aoife's heart break.

"I have failed him!"Suruv wailed, "and now-and now-he will not stop at killing me, Aoife. No, he'll torture me, slowly, painfully, and I will wish for death long before he gives it to me."

He was shaking all over as the tears flowed. As he looked at Aoife, his eyes were filled with fear. She had never seen him like this, never thought he possessed any emotion but greed or anger. To see him like this, crying like a frightened little child, was new and terrifying to her.

"Aoife,"he sobbed, "I know I was a horrible father to you. I did not treat you with the respect you deserved. I made your life as terrible as I could, only because you were so wise and much braver than I, and I was jealous of you. I was jealous, do you hear! I was an awful father, but I gave you shelter, food, and clothing didn't I?"

"Yes, you did."

"I did you a courtesy. Could you do one for me?"

"What?"

"I want you to kill me."

"You-you _what_?"

"You must have wanted to a thousand times in the past. Now is your chance. Kill me, Aoife."

"No...no I won't."

Suruv rose, too petrified with fear and surprise to say anything. Aoife continued, "You were a dreadful father to me. In fact, I do not believe even now that I ever called you my father. But you are right, you did allow me to sleep in your house and gave me clothes to wear and food to eat. For that, I owe you something. I'll make sure you stay here, in this cell.. I'll give you a roof over your head, food to eat, and clothes for your back, as you did for me, and what's more, I'll see to it that you are protected from this sorcerer of yours. And I will never think of you again."

Suruv began to laugh insanely. Indeed, Aoife thought he was losing his mind, "You fool of a girl! Did you not hear me? _This is no ordinary man._ He is a sorcerer, an evil, inhuman monster. He sees all, he knows all, you cannot hide from him. Large, locked iron doors make no difference to him. He will come into my cell, tonight, and he will take me away, and he will torture me for the sake of his own pleasure. He won't kill me just yet. I need you to kill me, Aoife. I need you to do me this courtesy."

He was on his knees now, holding Aoife's hands, his voice fraught with despair. But Aoife could not bring herself to kill him. She withdrew her hands from his grasp, and left that room as quickly as she could. Just as she closed the door, she heard a blood-curdling scream from inside.

Faolan was standing at the far end of the hall. He looked at her curiously as she walked to him, thrusting the dagger into his hands, "I don't know why on earth you thought it would be a good idea to bring me down here. I wish it had never happened!"

"What, Aoife? What happened?"

She did not answer, "Will you do me one small favor?"

"Alright."

"Post a guard outside that door. No one is to go in. Make sure his food is safe to eat before you give it too him. He claims someone is trying to kill him. Make sure that doesn't happen."

The next morning, as breakfast was being served, the guards found Suruv hanging in his cell by his bed sheet. He had been dead for hours, everyone decided, and his body was graciously sent back to Calormen along with the rest of the soldiers who had died in battle, at the request of Aoife.

Galian, absolutely fed up with sitting around all day missing the action, found her on the terrace facing east while he was stretching his legs later that morning. She looked thoughtful, though she brightened up a good deal when she saw Galian up and about.

"How are you feeling?"he asked her after she hugged him.

"You'll think me strange, but I'm actually a little sad,"she commented, returning to her seat. Galian joined her, saying, "I do not think you strange at all. He was the only father you had ever known. No matter how terrible he treated you, there must have been some affection between the two of you all those years."

They were silent for a moment, then Galian asked, "How did you know he was here?"

She looked a tad sheepish, "Lord Faolan took me to see him."

"_He what_?"

She sighed. She had known he would get angry, "Last night, at the celebration, he told me they had captured a prisoner I might take an interest in, and sure enough, he brought me to Suruv."

"But why?"

"I overheard him telling Queen Eleytheria this morning that he had hoped I could get information out of him."

There was a tense pause, then Galian asked, "Well, did you?"

She wasn't sure she should tell him. It just seemed too fantastic to believe, and he might think she had made it up. But she looked into Galian's face, and knew that he knew she wasn't one to make up stories in situations like these. So, she told him the whole story, about a deadly sorcerer who hired a group of Calormene soldiers to attack Archenland. Even as she said it, it sounded completely outrageous. Galian didn't say anything, looking uncomfortable, and she wondered if he thought she was insane after all.

"A sorcerer? Are you sure?"

"I'm only repeating what he said. Do you think it's true?"

"That's the problem. I'm not exactly sure. I mean, ever since I was a boy, there was always some hoax about a man or a women pretending to have magical powers, and everyone would bow to them for a bit, but it was always uncovered that they were nothing more than common marketplace magicians, you know, the sort that pulls rabbits out of their hats and does card tricks and things like that, completely harmless people."

"But Suruv seemed to think he was the real thing. He talked about this sorcerer like he was all powerful and extremely evil."

"But, Aoife, a sorcerer? A real, living, breathing sorcerer?"

"Well, why not? I mean, everyone thought that race had died out until King Rilian was captured and then rescued. What if the enchantress wasn't the last of that breed?"

Galian shook, though the weather was quite warm, "It's a terrible thought, but I don't doubt you may be onto something."

"And what's worse, we don't know who this man is. He's obviously clever enough if he's able to mobilize half the Calormene army without the Tisroc's consent or knowledge. Why shouldn't he be a spy of some sort? He might be here, now, in Anvard. He could have put some sort of a spell over us, confusing us, and we might find ourselves doing things we never did before, and we're not sure why..."

"Hold on a minute,"Galian interrupted, half chuckling at her overactive imagination, "let's not lose our heads. We can't be paranoid about this. We've just got to be calm and patient, and keep our eyes open. I think you should tell the Queen about this, privately. She needs to know."

"I will,"she promised. Galian thought she would go immediately to tell the Queen, but instead, she remained, looking as if she weren't sure what to say next.

"Does-does that mean you're staying in Archenland?"she asked, and he thought he detected a bit of wistfulness in her voice, but he wasn't sure.

"Queen Eleytheria is going to have me knighted. I suppose there will be no getting rid of me now."

"What about your land in Narnia?"

"Vacation property, I suppose,"he said dryly, knowing there would be no vacation for him. Not in the near future anyway, "Why do you ask?"

She took a deep breath and said, "After I tell the Queen of our sorcerer, there is something else I intend to ask."

She hesitated, and Galian said, throughly, confused, "Well?"

"Galian, if you and the Narnians hadn't showed up, we probably would have lost the battle. If they had broken through our lines, nothing would have stopped them from riding straight to Anvard and the Queen. There is no defensive structure between the border and Anvard. Don't you think there should be?"

Galian looked at her incredulously, "So, basically, you want to build a castle?"

"Or something of the sort,"she said quickly, blushing, "really, just a fortress to match the Calormenes' fortress. Just an outpost where we can have a small garrison. Maybe a place to combat all the bounty hunters, so our citizens won't be kidnaped. And, maybe, it could be a safe haven for slaves who want a chance at freedom."

Galian said nothing, only looked to the horizon, deep in thought. He could see it. The strong, massive structure, a welcomed sight by their friends and a fearful one to their enemies. The last line of defense. The Last Castle before the border.

"I think it's a wonderful idea,"he told Aoife. Her glowing face was all the reward he would ever need.

"Do you really think so?"

"Absolutely. You're very right about there being no defense for Anvard. I don't know how it was never spotted before. But what does this have to do with me?"

She hadn't been looking at him before. She had been staring straight ahead, at the horizon. Now, she turned to him, and there was something in her eyes that he had never seen before.

"If I want this project to work,"she said, her voice shaking, "I need you. You and I...I just feel there's nothing I can't do when we're together. With you beside me...I just know we could do it."

She flushed again, and turned away. Galian asked, his voice shaking as well, "And how long am I to stay beside you?"

She didn't answer directly, "Galian...you weren't supposed to happen. I was supposed to come to Archenland, and perhaps wait on Pericles, and he and I would marry and live happily together. I loved him. I still do. But then you came and...nothing is simple anymore."

He didn't dare believe what he thought she was telling him. It seemed to good to be true, a dream turned to reality, "Aoife,"he asked, "do you love me?"

Her answer came, soft as the wind, "I do. But,"she added, stifling his momentary feelings of extreme joy, "I love Pericles as well. Both of you are so wonderful, and I can't decide which of you I love more. I'll need time, time to sort my feelings out. Do...do you think you could wait?"

"Do you remember that day I told you I'd wait for you forever?"

"Yes."

"I still mean it. I mean it more now than I ever have. I love you, so much it hurts, and no matter what you decide, I will be here for you, now and forever. And I will help you with this fortress in any way you might need me."

She smiled, and hugged him shyly, then left for her meeting with the Queen. Galian remained on the terrace, looking at the land of Archenland, sloping away before him, the morning mist just beginning to rise. He made an effort to slow his heart down. What he had just heard was the answer to all his prayers, the only thing more wonderful than hearing that Aoife loved him was having her in his arms and keeping her there forever. But he had no intention of rushing her. He could make her love him, make her forget Pericles. He wouldn't give up, he knew that for sure.

He sighed, then turned to walk back into the castle. There wasn't a moment to lost. After all, he had a castle to build.

_**THE END**_


	20. Chapter 20

Acknowledgments.

As we all know, the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C.S. Lewis, so I should first thank him for such amazing books that give us fanfic authors so much leeway to write our own stories.

Some of you might have been disappointed by the ending. There is a sequel planned, called _The Last Castle_, which is to our heros means it is the last castle before the Calormene border, but it actually means it will be the last castle ever built in Archenland, because at this time in Narnia we are nearing towards the end times.

I said I'd answer all my reviewers' questions individually at a later time, and that time is now. If your name or comment is not addressed below, it is because these are all the comments I've had since October 4, when this chapter went up. Send me an email if you have any questions afterward.

**ElvenSilver**: My very first reviewer! Thanks so much, and I hope you kept up with the story.

**poison blossom**: Your comments totally blew me away, I can't tell you how much it meant to me. Thank you so very much.

**Rose Black**: I know Aoife isn't an Arabic name. She's not Calormene born, see, she was a Narnian to begin with, so I had her mother give her a more Narnian sounding name. Make sense? Hope you liked the story.

**Xcoolcomic: **Thank you for your review. The Horse and His Boy is one of my favorites as well.

**almostinsane: **Glad you liked it. Sorry I never told you, but I did like your story.

**Isobel Kelte: **Thank you for liking my characters. It's hard sometimes to create a good character with good dialogue, and to hear you tell me how good they are is a relief. Thanks for reviewing.

**Alexis Kent:** Glad you liked it. I tried to throw a few wrenches in the works to make my story interesting to read.

**the muggle marauder**: Again, I'm glad to hear my efforts to make the characters more real are paying off. I tried not to make it depressing, I hope I succeeded.

**jasonc65**: First off, thank you for your reviewers. You were one of the few consistent ones that kept me going. That said, your last review made me sound like I thought I was a better writer than everyone else, and I don't know if you did that unintentionally or you really think that. I don't think I'm better than other writers, I know I've got a long way to go. I have reviewed other stories in the past, only most of my reviews were anonymous (FYI: any of you who have anon as your reviewer, that was me). I don't have any favorite authors or stories listed because I haven't figured out how to do that yet, and I haven't had much time here lately to try. I do need to review more, and once I get out of the rut I'm in as far as school goes, I'll make more of an effort to do so. Until then, thanks for your reviews and I hope you stay with me for the sequel.

**Hahukum Konn**: Thank you as well for your reviews. You seemed really enthusiastic about how you felt about them, and that is great for any author to see. I hoped I answered all your questions.

**Princess Siara: **Another faithful reviewer. Thank you so much for enjoying my story, and I hope I answered all your questions.

**Koomay**: Thank you very much. You sound like you're one of the few who was rooting for Pericles, unless you changed your mind later on. Anyway, thanks so much!

**Linwe Jaganshi: **Pericles did tell the bad guys Aoife and Galian were going north, but only because he thought they were going northwest. He was trying to divert the search parties, but unknowingly sent them right to Aoife and Galian. He was trying to help. Other than that, thank you for your reviews! They were great!

**Jessimyre**: I tried to stick to how Lewis would write it as closely as I could. I'm thankful you thought I was doing ok.

**Flowerkid:** Glad you thought it was so interesting.

**Peachy the Elf**: Thanks for making the effort! Hope you stick with me.

**ScarletInk:** You're pretty good at guessing where I'm going next. Thanks for your review!

**Destiny Kitty of Shadowdon**: Wow. You are quite possibly one of the most awesome reviewers anyone could ask for (not trying to offend anyone else). Your reviews kept me writing when I was in a rut. I don't know what else to say to you, except thanks so very much, and I hope the story lived up to your expectations.

**Unexpected Dawn**: Yes, I do call myself the reincarnate of C.S. Lewis, but mostly in fun. I do, however, think I know more about Narnia than the average man, and yes, that is a challenge! Anyone reading, email me your trivia! I dare you! But, anyway, Dawn, I guess you didn't agree. That's the way the cannon ball bounces. Whatever I did that you didn't like, let me know and I'll work on it.

**TobiasHawk13:** Thanks for liking my story. See, I didn't kill Galian off, so I hope that means you'll keep reading and reviewing with the same enthusiasm you did before. As for finding out who Aoife marries, you'll have to wait for the sequel, like everyone else. Thanks!

**Rendia**: Thanks for jumping on board. I'm glad my action and characters were real. Like I said before, it's hard to recreate things like that, and I'm glad my efforts were successful. Thank you so much.

Well, that's all I have to say, except for thanks again to you all! I hope you stay tuned for the sequel and all other stories to come, God willing. Until next time...


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